


Promises

by DarthAstris



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Torture, Puppy Love, Teen Crush, Torture, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-05 15:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13390641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAstris/pseuds/DarthAstris
Summary: What if Armitage Hux had escaped from his father when he was being whisked away to the Imperial Remnant during the Siege of Arkanis? What if he had a chance at a normal life with his mother?(I promise this is still getting updated, I've just had to kip off for grad school recently! But, it's coming!)





	1. Chapter 1

  
  


***5 ABY***

 

_No! I can't!_

An ominous whistle descended from overhead.

Armitage squeezed his eyes shut.  His heart fluttered in terror.  He clutched Neffie, his stuffed nerf doll, in a death grip, seeking courage in the soft plush.

_I can’t do it!_

Another plasma bomb struck the dome of the shield that covered the main building of the Arkanis Academy, exploding in a searing, white flash.  The force field wobbled, sizzling in the rain, and splintered into pixelated, blue lines of energy at the point of impact.  It wouldn't hold much longer.  All but the main generator had run out of fuel over a month ago.

His home.  It would be destroyed by the Rebel terrorists.  Soon.

He was too afraid to cross the threshold and follow his father out into the howling storm that rained both natural and unnatural violence upon them.

He'd been asleep, curled into the comforting darkness under his bed, just minutes ago.  Though he was wide awake now, adrenaline rushing through his trembling, tiny body, the confusion of sleep hadn't yet left him.  Everything had happened so fast.  One minute, he was wrapped in the warm blanket of dreams, the next, being hauled to his feet by his shouting father.  His cheek still stung from the slap he’d been given to wake him up.  He hadn't had any time to change clothes or prepare himself to go outside, let alone to travel, if the XS stock light freighter sitting in the courtyard was any indication of their destination.

The man who was with them turned from the doorway and said, “Let’s go. They won’t drop another one for a few minutes, but that flash could’ve given away my ship.”

Armitage didn’t know who this man was, but he didn’t look like an Imperial.  He was lanky and moved gracefully, like a dancer, though he was dressed in an armored flight suit.  He’d shown up with his father in the dead of night, hurrying them through the corridors and trying to keep them hidden as Brendol scrambled to retrieve sensitive data and cram his duffel bag full of clothing and other valuables.  Armitage hadn’t been given time to grab anything, except for his Neffie, who usually remained hidden under his bed.  If he hadn’t already been huddled up with her, she would have been left behind, too.

Lightning flashed nearby, the sharp smell of ozone and the clap of thunder nearly indistinguishable from another bomb.  Armitage jumped.  Brendol mistook his surprise for flight.  A meaty hand encircled his skinny bicep, yanking him forward so fiercely he heard the bone snap moments before he felt the pain lance up his arm.  He cried out, both in protest and in agony, as Brendol dragged him forward, following the pilot back to his ship.

Brendol jerked him close and hissed, “Quiet, boy! Not a sound!”

Armitage sucked in a sharp breath and held it, as afraid of his father as he was of being ripped apart by bombs or blasterfire.  He swallowed his whimpers and ran to keep up with Brendol’s pace and his relentless grip.  At least the pouring rain camouflaged his tears.  If Brendol caught him crying he’d be beaten for sure.

He didn’t have time to think or be terrified of the mad dash through the open field, but once they were in the ship, and Brendol had slapped the button to retract the gangway, Armitage looked back over his shoulder to watch his home disappear behind the closing ramp.

There was but a small sliver of space left -- large enough for him to slip through, but not his father.  If it closed, he would be taken away from his home forever.  He would never see his mother -- the one person in the whole galaxy who cared about him -- again.  The cold truth of it made him shiver more than his rain-soaked nightclothes did.

Another bomb burst, spraying mud and debris over the ship.

Brendol's grip on his arm slackened as he raised his other arm to shield his face.  

_Now! It has to be now!_

Armitage held his breath, braced himself for the pain, and wrenched free, darting through the opening and out into the lashing wind and rain.  Brendol swore and slammed his fist into the emergency stop button.  He remained inside the safety of the ship but his voice chased after Armitage, blending into the rage of the shrieking wind.

"You little shit! Get back here! You're dead! You're fracking dead if I have to come get you!"

For the first time in his life, Armitage directly disobeyed his father.  He made for the woods and hoped he wouldn’t be followed.  Mud sucked at his bare feet as he slogged through a bomb crater.  His father was still shouting, but he couldn’t make out the specifics of the threats over the rumble of thunder and his own pounding heart.  He didn’t need to know the details, but he knew he’d rather be taken out by a Rebel bomb than reunited with Brendol after this. 

If he were going to survive, he needed to set his fear aside and focus.  Sputtering and gasping in the rain, he stumbled over the ridge and down into the relative safety of the trees.  He thought about climbing up into one of the towering blackwoods, but his left arm hung, useless, at his side.  He couldn’t do it one-handed.  Though he knew his haphazard flight into the forest had left an obvious trail, he didn’t have much time to cover his tracks, so he started toward a slanted outcrop and a small, abandoned warren of click-claw caves he knew was nearby.  It was the perfect hiding place, just large enough for him to shimmy inside and—

_It’s the perfect hiding place.  The first place they’ll look._

Armitage cast about for another place to go, but he’d never been into the woods at night.  Too many predators lurked in the shadows.  Fortunately, they’d all been frightened away over the last 6 months, but that wasn’t much help to him now.  Unless…

_That outworlder might not know the predators have gone…_

Without hesitation, he reached over to snap some larger branches and realized he was still holding Neffie.  He didn’t want to leave her behind, but it could really help to sell his deception.  He was running out of time.  A stifled whine escaped him as he dropped the beloved gift in the muck.  “If this works, I’ll come back for you,” he whispered. “I promise.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Forget the whelp! Just get me out of here!” Brendol growled.

Mercurial Swift cast a sidelong glance at the annoying man beside him.  His irritation morphed into outright disgust as Brendol let his fear get out of control enough to dig his chubby fingers into Swift’s upper arm, just as he had done to his young son moments before.  Only, Swift was made of sterner stuff.  How this coward had ever been commissioned as an Imperial officer spoke volumes as to how the paltry Rebellion had seized the upper hand over the massive regime.  Swift was glad to have nothing to do with it, nothing past a paycheck, anyway.  So to speak.  Grand Admiral Sloane herself had personally promised him favors in exchange for getting this done discreetly.

And now that deal had been compromised by this incorrigible, selfish idiot.  Sloane’s contract stipulated that the father _and_ the son must both be collected, with a preference toward the son, for whatever reason.  Swift didn’t ask.  He didn’t care.  But he was beginning to understand why.

A bomb split the ground less than one-hundred meters away, lighting up the night with a white plume of plasma and the stench of steaming wood and scorched mud.  The trees of the nearby forest stood out in the stark light like the dry ribs of a long dead animal reaching toward the sky.  Half his favors were out there, cowering in the shadows, but if he didn’t leave now, he could lose his ship on top of everything else. 

On the other hand, to let it get out that he’d been outsmarted by a 5-year-old kid… that could compromise his whole career.

Swearing under his breath, he yanked his arm out of Brendol’s vise-grip and barked at him to prep the ship for takeoff.  He balked at Swift’s disrespect and opened his mouth to argue, but the bounty hunter had already slipped down the ramp and out into the night.

The shelling continued, but lazily and moving off into the distance, without any real pattern, as though the Rebels simply wanted to remind the frazzled inhabitants of the stone fortress that they were still there.  Arkanis had been under siege for a little over six months.  Their rations had to have been depleted by now, though one wouldn't know it by observing the commandant’s girth.  Swift wouldn't be surprised if this place fell the moment they realized their tyrannical commandant was gone.

Swift figured that it would be safe to search for about ten minutes before the bombers wound their way back to the courtyard.  Ten minutes.  If it took him more than that to find a terrified child in the woods, he’d willingly hang up his batons and retire.

Crouching low to the ground, he easily spotted the boy’s footprints, though the rain was doing its best to wash them away.  He moved quickly, despite the awkward position, and arrived at the edge of the woods only a few minutes behind the kid.  Once there, tracking him became slightly more difficult.  The debris left behind by half a year of shelling had made the entrance to the forest a mess of scattered leaves, twigs, and branches, and the wind whipping them about didn’t help either.  Swift pulled out a pair of quadnocs and switched them to thermal.

The heat from the footprints had dissipated rapidly due to the cold and the boy's small size, but he found enough of a signature to glean the general direction he had taken off in.  Pocketing the quadnocs he set off after the fading trail.  People on the run in the wilderness tended to head in a mostly straight direction and follow the path of least resistance, once they’d decided on a destination, and the kid was no exception.  As he continued to follow, the trail became easier to see.  The boy had taken a well-worn route that seemed to have been made by some sort of mid-sized predator.  In certain muddy patches, his footfalls became heavier; he’d been running pell-mell, as if chased by something deadlier or more frightening than the bounty hunter.  Swift read the boy’s fear in the increased stride and in the depth of the prints left in the sludge.  Up ahead, he could see some sort of rise in the ground, a small cave system (perhaps the den of some creature, or pack of creatures), and in front of it, the small toy the boy had been carrying.

 _He wouldn’t have just dropped it,_ Swift thought, approaching with caution. _He’d been clinging to it even with a broken arm.  Clearly, it held some sentimental value to him._    

Upon closer inspection, he could see that it had been stained, not just with mud, but with the unmistakable glint of fresh blood.

It was everywhere.

Swift drew his concussion batons and set them to kill.  The energy hummed through his palms.

There were obvious signs of a struggle: blood soaking into the ground as well as on nearby stones and trees, cracked branches, scattered leaves, some sort of clawed animal tracks, rivulets in the mud where the boy had clawed at the ground for purchase as he was dragged away.  A broken, sharp stick -- one end covered in a purplish-blue substance that looked like blood -- lay in front of the mouth of the burrow.  The boy had tried to defend himself against whatever creature had taken him.

He swore again and backed away from the scene, eyeing the blackness between the trees and in the mouths of the caves with more suspicion and care than he’d had going in.  Everyone knew the Arkanisian wilderness was home to some of the most deadly creatures in the galaxy.  The poor kid had made a terrible decision and it had cost him his life.  Swift felt bad for him, but not bad enough to call out to him, possibly alerting whatever had done this to his own location.  He had no desire to meet such a grisly end.

Still, he had to be sure, so he holstered one baton to retrieve his quadnocs again.  The blood led into the warrens, as he’d suspected.  The scanners couldn’t see deep inside the dark den, but there was enough of a paling heat signature down below that it could only have been the boy, or what was left of him.  The glow was weak, whether from bleeding out or because of the interference of the stone, but either way it seemed too cold for it to belong to a living being.  Not one that would survive the night, at any rate.

There was no sign of whatever had attacked him, which meant it could still be close by.  Waiting.

Unable to help, Swift waved his hand in an ancient prayer-sign and retreated to his ship.

Brendol had made himself comfortable in the pilot’s seat, and jumped up, looking flustered and guilty when Swift returned.  If it hadn’t been for the lockouts on the controls, Swift was quite sure he would have been left behind.

“Er… It’s all ready to go,” Brendol mumbled.  He glanced back toward the loading ramp as it clanged shut, but didn’t inquire about his son, not even to ask what had happened.  He didn’t care at all.

Swift glared at him.  “Go,” he jerked a thumb back toward the passenger compartment. “Sit down and strap in.” _If you can, you selfish prick,_ he added, mentally.  That little boy hadn’t deserved such a brutal end to such a short life after living with this monster, but that was the way of the universe.  He muttered another curse and fired up the engines.


	3. Chapter 3

  
  


Armitage didn’t know how long he’d sheltered in the cave, but his toes and fingers had gone numb from the cold.  The fear pulsing through his veins made everything seem so fast and yet, so slow.

The entrance to the burrow slanted downward, and the rain trickled down into the hole, forming a puddle of slush where he huddled.  His shredded, sodden nightshirt offered no protection from the elements.  He knew he should have pushed up some of the mud toward the mouth of the cave to create a rain barrier, as a click-claw would have done, but his broken arm hurt too badly to move anymore, and he had to use his free hand to keep pressing the clingmoss he’d found onto his wrist wound.  He’d used a sharp stick to slice his wrist open and spread the blood around, but now he was afraid he’d cut too deeply, lost too much blood.  Armitage curled in on himself, shivering uncontrollably.  He was going to die out here.  Cold.  Dirty.  Alone.  He didn’t even have his Neffie for comfort.

Just as his initial panic began to subside, another sprang up to take its place.  All his fear -- and pain, and hunger -- combined with the narrow enclosure to remind him of one of his father’s favorite punishments.  The box.  Whenever he'd been impatient about something, or lost control of his emotions, his father would order him to get into his old, musty footlocker.  Time had a way of slowing down in there, too, but he was certain he'd never spent less than 8 hours in it.  Something in the pit of his stomach had twisted at the thought of going into these narrow caves, but he hadn’t had time to think about it in his rush to hide.  Now it felt like the walls were pressing in on him.  With every clump of dirt and drop of rainwater that fell, his heartbeat quickened.  He had to get out of here. 

But he had to remain still.  Control his breathing.  Stay quiet. 

He thought he heard someone approach and then retreat, but it could’ve been his mind playing tricks on him.  He felt light-headed and so, so sleepy.  Closing his eyes, he strained his ears, listening for anything out of place.  Was that the sound of engines in the distance? Or just the rumble of another bomb, or thunder? He decided to count backwards from one-thousand.  That should be enough time for them to have decided he was not worth searching for, and the mental exercise would serve to keep him awake.  If he fell asleep now, he would let go of his wrist and then he would bleed to death.  He wondered how far he had to go until dawn.

Staring hard at the dank walls of the cramped den, he recalled the inside of the interloper’s ship.  He’d only seen it for a moment, but it had been enough to plant a solid image in his mind.  The first thing to jump out from the memory was the comparative warmth of the cabin.  Armitage shuddered.  _No, don’t think about that.  Where is the chrono in an XS freighter?_ He imagined himself standing in the passenger compartment and looked around.  _Right! The bulkhead above the fold-out bunk, near the door panel for the corridor._ The green numbers blinked at him from the memory. _02:47._

_Not good._

He couldn’t have been out here more than five, maybe ten minutes so far.  Sunrise was a long way off.  But, his mother and the rest of the kitchen staff would be waking up soon, in order to prepare for the morning meal.  The only fresh meal the survivors of the siege still enjoyed: bread.  One piece had to last all day, unless you had watch duty.  Then you got an extra half.  Armitage could almost smell it: the warm, earthy scent of fresh grains in the sun.  His stomach grumbled in protest.  Maybe he wasn’t so alone after all.  Hunger had become his constant companion over the last 6 months. 

Almost half-way through his counting, he felt his mind wandering, his thoughts becoming as muddied as he had.  It was becoming more difficult to concentrate.  He tried focusing on his surroundings to keep himself rooted in reality, but that just took him back to the suffocating confines of the box.

_Stop it! Just think about something else._

He was fairly certain his ruse had worked, but was afraid to allow himself to feel pride at his accomplishment.  He’d never done anything that couldn’t have been done better.  He probably made a mistake.  He would be caught.  He could still die out here.  But, he couldn’t help the tiniest of smiles tugging at his lips.  He’d stayed calm and thought his way out of a dire situation.  He might have outwitted an adult, probably a bounty hunter or mercenary.  Any other boy his age would have just run until he’d collapsed, or been injured, and then would have gotten caught right away.  He may not have had much else going for him, but Armitage was smarter than the average boy, and he knew it. 

Although, he had to admit he hadn’t thought this out very thoroughly, given his current circumstances. 

He just needed to stay calm and think.  As long as he could do that, everything would be ok.

The storm roiled and churned, whipping the trees and the ocean into a frenzy.  Even over the cacophony of wind, rain, bombs, and thunder, he could hear the towering whitecaps crashing into the high cliffs not far away, and smell the briny sea spray they kicked up.  He wondered if a storm had ever been bad enough to toss any sea monsters onto land.  Armitage knew it was irrational, but he couldn’t stop thinking about one of the massive creatures thrashing through the woods, hellbent on devouring anything that moved, reaching a tentacle into this hidey-hole in search of a tender morsel of—

_Don’t be ridiculous. They’re too large to be on land. The weight of their bodies would crush them.  They don’t have bones, like we do, to support that kind of weight. There’s no way they could do more than flop about…_

But it was one thing to think logically from the safety of one’s bedroom, high up in the fortress towers, and another altogether to be a little boy alone and trapped in the woods at night.

And his arm bone was broken, yet he had still managed to carry Neffie all the way out here and to dig down into this burrow, so maybe if the monster was mad enough…

_No! Stop it! Just, stop it!_

Armitage was already shaking, only now it was from fear as well as the chill in his thin bones.

He wished he could hold Neffie.  He’d promised her he wouldn’t leave her out there, and now she was all alone and in danger of being eaten by a sea monster.

_Don’t be silly. It’s just a toy._

Still, he felt a pang of guilt at the thought or her lying out in the rain and mud.  Alone, like he was.

He loved that toy.  In dark times, when he was hurting, he could always hug her and smell the familiar scent of sweet spices that reminded him of the kind woman in the kitchens. His _real_ mother.  Of course, he had to call Maratelle “Mother”, but somehow he knew, deep down, that she wasn’t.  Her cold indifference toward him was almost as painful as Brendol’s attention.

Neffie was the only present he’d ever been given that hadn’t been taken away by his father.  His mother had made it for him for his birthday two years ago, and so far, he’d kept her safely hidden.  He wasn’t about to leave her behind now.

_I’ll get you back._

He hadn’t quite finished counting yet, but he could feel himself sliding, as though his consciousness were slipping sideways.  He wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer.  It should have been 20 to 30 minutes since they’d fled the academy, and his father had seemed in such a hurry.  Surely, they were gone by now. 

Armitage set his jaw and took a deep breath.  His legs worked under him, pedaling in the muck, pushing him forward, little by little.  The movement made his arm and wrist throb.  All his bones and muscles ached, tingling like thousands of minuscule insect stings when he started inching himself toward the opening of the tunnel.  Everything in him wanted to just give up and go to sleep.  But he had made a promise.

The closer he got, he could see the little nerf, sopping wet and filthy with dirt and blood.  He guessed he didn’t look much better himself.

Once out of the tunnel, he managed to right himself and scoot forward on his knees.  His already ripped nightshirt caught on the stray twigs scattered about and tore along the hem.  He whimpered at the sight of it; he was going to be in so much trouble.  Leaning over his prize, he zeroed in on the cleanest spot he could find and picked Neffie up by one of her horns, using his teeth.  After struggling to his feet, he dropped her in the space between his chest and where he clutched his wrist, holding her as tightly as he could.  Icy water squished out and cascaded down his stomach, but he didn't care.

Just having her so close to his heart gave him the courage he needed to stave off his pain and slog through the woods back to the academy.  He would have to pass through the courtyard again.  There was no cover, and he knew the bombs weren’t going to stop, but he had done it once already, and he could do it again.


	4. Chapter 4

Lydia woke from her restless sleep and sat on the edge of her bed to stretch and yawn.  The bombing continued through the night, as it had every night since the siege began, and strangely enough she’d gotten used to it.  Either they were all going to die or they weren’t.  Worrying about it would make no difference.  Still, she couldn’t say she’d slept soundly.  Something just felt _wrong._

Getting up, she smoothed down the sheets over her bed, feeling the residual body heat escape through the holes of the blanket she’d knitted for extra warmth.   She smiled at Renai and Cassa, greeting them as she walked down to the communal refresher to wait for her turn in the shower.  At least water was the one thing they hadn’t had to ration; a fresh water well and reservoir existed directly under the fortress.  _Warm_ water, on the other hand…

Conserving energy for the shield generators took priority over environmental control systems and personal comfort.

Just as she leaned against the wall to doze for a few minutes more, Jariel came skidding around the corner and grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Lydia! Have you heard?” She was struggling to force her excitement down into a whisper, given that the rest of the inhabitants of the academy were still sleeping.  Lydia had barely begun to shake her head when she continued.  “The Master! He’s gone! N’dair said he went out to get some firewood and saw him take off in a ship with some stranger and a packed bag about an hour ago! And... he said he had Armitage with him!”

“What?” Lydia’s eyes widened. Every muscle in her body tensed in response.  She could feel her pulse beating in her neck. “Where?”

“In the courtyard— Wait, where are you—”

Lydia’s feet had already begun moving; before her brain had even caught up to what she was doing, she was halfway down the hall.

“—He’s already gone! It was almost an hour ago!”

She ignored Jariel, though she didn’t know why.  She was right, of course -- he would be long gone by now -- but Lydia couldn’t believe it until she saw whatever there might be to see with her own eyes.  He couldn’t have taken her little boy.  He couldn’t!

Sprinting up the stairs, she burst through the door to Armitage’s room.  DDM-38 turned to face her, the droid’s blank features in stark contrast to Lydia’s flushed and worry-lined face.  “Unauthorized entry! This will be reported!” the feminine, mechanical voice declared.

“Out of my way!” Lydia growled and shoved past, for once, unafraid of the droid’s intimidating threats. Not seeing Armitage in bed, she dropped to her knees, knowing he sometimes hid under the bed when the shelling was at its worst, or when he had nightmares.  He wasn’t there either.  “Where is he?” she demanded, taking the droid by her metal shoulders. “What have you snakes done with him?”

“I do not answer to you, servant.  Return to your station, or this, too, shall be reported to the Master.”

"The Master is gone!”

“Then the Mistress shall hear about—”

Lydia had no time to argue with the droid.  If she were going to be whipped for her insolence, then so be it.  Panic had wiped all concern for self-preservation from her mind.  She had to find her baby boy.  She took off again, running full tilt down the halls and stairwells until she’d made her way to the main hall.

And there, at the end of the long hall, just inside the heavy doors, stood her little Armitage.  He was covered in mud and bits of twig and wet leaves, soaked to the bone, standing in a puddle of freezing rain at the edge of the lush, red carpet that lined the entryway.  He gripped something tightly to his chest and stared at the floor in a daze.  As she rushed toward him she could see how pale his face had gone.  He was trying to stand up straight, but he was shivering, dressed only in the loose shift he liked to sleep in.  Torn and wet -- not just with rain but with terrifying crimson stains -- the ragged garment clung to his bony frame like the shroud of a ghost.  His eyes were wide but tightened with shock and obvious pain, though he sniffled and tried to hide it as she approached.  Swaying on his feet, he stared at the rug, seemingly afraid to step forward.

He looked up at her, only noticing her when she drew nearer.  In a tiny, tremulous voice, he squeaked, _“Ama?”_

Lydia dropped to her knees before him and scooped him into her arms.

His cry of pain shot through her like an electric shock.  She let go of him immediately, her hands going to his face, combing aside the hair plastered to his forehead and looking him over for injuries.  A nasty bruise and cut swelled on his cheekbone, “Oh, _ah’lan!_ Are you hurt? What happened? _Tébrén iim, ah’stor!_ ” 

Her fingers danced feather light over his skin, searching for wounds that might be hidden by the dirt.  Already her heart hurt for his skinned knees and shins, and the cuts on his feet that she couldn’t see but for the red tinge to the water he stood in.

“I hurt my arm,” he sniffled.

She tried not to frown as the practiced lie slipped from his lips, lest he think she was angry with him and not the pig who’d undoubtedly hurt him. “Oh, _Ármi!_ My baby! Let me see.”

Gently, she pulled Neffie away and set the doll beside them so she could get a better look.  Armitage whined a little and furrowed his brow but didn’t try to stop her.  Peeling up the sleeve of his shirt, she gasped at the unnatural way the bone in his upper arm twisted.  At first, she only saw the bruises on his face and arm, but then she noticed how white his fingers had turned as he grasped his wrist and saw the dark scraggles of bloody clingmoss between them.

“I cut myself, too.” The distance in his voice frightened her. “I think, maybe, it was a little too deep…” His voice trailed off as his shoulders sagged and his knees gave out.  Lydia caught him, careful not to put pressure on his broken arm, and pulled him as close to her as she dared.  He felt so cold and clammy against her breast, and she wondered how he could still be alive.  He needed to be warmed and cleaned up and given medical attention right away, but all the Bacta tanks were in use, and their supply of painkillers and Bacta gel had run out months ago.  The two doctors that had been on staff had been killed in an explosion in the first week of the siege.  Taking him to the infirmary would do nothing more than put further stress on his already fear-saturated nerves; after all of his father’s horrible experiments on him, Armitage was terrified of doctors.

But there were things in the kitchen she could use to help him.  It might be just delaying the inevitable, but she refused to give up.

“Ok, baby, just hold on a little longer. Ok? Try to stay awake. Keep pressing on that cut.”  She was already running again, letting her feet follow the well-worn path of memory while she kept her eyes on him.  “You’re doing so well, _Ármi_ , just a little bit longer, ok? Such a good, brave boy.”

He buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed, the events and pain and emotions of the night finally overwhelming him.

“It’s ok, baby, it’s ok. _Ama_ is going to get you all fixed up. Don’t worry. You’re safe now.”

She dashed into the kitchen, relieved to see that N’dair and Tama were already there.  They both stopped what they were doing and turned to the doorway at the sound of her approach.

“N’dair, run to the laundry and fetch one of the washing tubs, and some fresh towels and blankets.  Tama, start heating up some water.  We need to get him warm and cleaned up.”

Neither of them stopped to question her orders, understanding the dire necessity of the situation.

Fortunately, the ancient, wood burning stoves were already lit.  She dropped to her knees as close to them as she dared and cradled her son in her lap.  With her free hand she reached out to the Force and called one of the clean dish towels over to her.   “ _Ármi?_ ” she whispered, “Let me see your wrist.  You can let go now, slowly. Easy, easy. It’s ok. I’ve got you.”

He did as he was told, his wide, red-rimmed eyes terrified and pleading as he watched her.

“That’s good. Oh, baby, you’re so smart,” she smiled, trying to keep the fear from her voice. Blood flowed from the vicious gash as soon as he let go.  She thought about removing the moss, but it was a good remedy for staunching the flow, and anyway, it was already embedded so deeply that pulling it out might open the wound even more.  Clingmoss had microscopic barbs that helped it adhere to any kind of surface when wet, and in a pinch, made for the perfect field dressing as it was also mildly antiseptic.  She pressed the towel over it and wrapped it around his wrist securely, holding it there herself to be sure.  He gasped at the change in pressure and tried not to cry. “Look at you; you made a field dressing and kept pressure on it and everything, even though it hurts. Such a smart thing to do.”  She kissed his brow.  “It’s ok now.  I’ll hold on to it.  Just relax.  I'm sorry I have to push so hard.”

His lip trembled, but he tried to keep his chin up. "It's ok, _Ama_."

But it wasn't ok.  She hated having to hurt him like this, even to save his life.  Lydia felt the tears well up in her eyes, but she didn't dare let them fall.  "You're so brave, _ah'stor_."

He was going to need sutures, but there was no one here who could be trusted to do it.  Cadets Sammat and Fannelin had been serving as medics, and they’d been reasonably effective for all they’d had to learn under such immense pressure, but she didn’t know if she could entrust the life of her son to them.  There was only one thing she could do...

But, right now, she couldn’t think about that.  They needed to get Armitage stabilized first.

Cassa and Renai turned up a few minutes later, hurrying over to check on Armitage and see how they could help.  “Renai, I think N’dair might need some help with the laundry. And, could you grab him some clean clothes? I forgot to ask.  Cas, could you brew some Tarine?”

They nodded and set to their tasks.  When no one was looking, Lydia floated the kitchen shears over to her as well.  “I’m sorry, _ah’stor_ , I need to cut this shirt off of you so you can dry off and get warm.  Just be still.  I’ll be quick.”  She felt him nod into her shoulder. 

He moaned softly and tried to stay quiet, but burst into sobs again when he heard the snip of the scissors.  Fighting against the tide of emotion, his breath hitched and he stuttered, hyperventilating in his fear, “I’m sorry! I got my shirt d-dirty and I-I-I tore it, and, and Neffie, t-too! And the c-c-c-carpet, and, and, and—”

 _The carpet? That’s why he didn’t come inside?_ Rage burned inside her, hotter than the coals in the stove.  In dire need of medical attention, and even with that monster nowhere in sight, he was still so afraid of Brendol’s retribution that he’d stood in the doorway, freezing and bleeding to death.

She controlled her voice only with monumental effort, “It’s ok, baby. It’s ok. Don’t worry about that.  None of this is your fault. Shh.” Stroking her son’s hair, she quietly thanked N’dair for setting up a basin and handing her some large, fluffy towels.  He helped cut away the rest of the filthy shift and draped a towel over the trembling boy.  “Let’s get you cleaned up, ok?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

“Here, I’ll hold your arm. Sit on the edge.” She helped him to balance on the rim of the wash basin, while Tama started to pour in a little warm water.  Armitage drew in a deep breath through his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and clenched his jaw but didn’t complain as the water swirled around his lacerated feet.  Lydia and Tama picked out the splinters and pebbles and cleaned out his cuts and scrapes as gently as they could.  Lydia’s heart ached for the pain she was causing him, and she wanted desperately to know what had happened, but she could sense how scared and exhausted he was so she left her questions for later. Right now he needed love and encouragement, and she would give him all that she could.  “You’re so brave, _ah’lan_ , but it’s ok to cry. I want you to tell me if it hurts. Ok?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he sniffled, still trying to hold in his tears.  His knuckles had gone pale, gripping the edge of the washtub, and he took shallow, rapid breaths.

He was definitely hurting worse than he let on, but she knew it was going to take time to get him to open up.  It broke her heart.  Brendol had done such horrible things to him and forbidden him to show any sign of pain; he’d been conditioned to believe he’d be hurt further if he complained or cried.  She didn’t know how he’d ever be able to trust again, but she would try her damnedest to show him that people weren’t always so cruel.

“Can you stand up for a second? Let’s get you out of these underpants so you can get clean.”

He nodded and did as he was told, his pinched countenance blushing with shame.  One small hiccup of a sob escaped him at the embarrassment of her seeing that he’d wet himself.

“It’s ok, _ah’stor_.” She smiled for him, tossing the underclothes into the pile of what was left of his nightshirt before helping him to sit back down.  “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.  Whatever happened to you, none of this was your fault.”  Lydia pulled him forward gently to rest on her shoulder, and bade him close his eyes as she lathered up his hair and washed the dirt from his face and his back.  Tama helped rinse him off with clean, warm water, while N’dair held up another towel to shield them from view.  All of the kitchen staff, and the other servants of the house, loved Armitage, and for that, Lydia was grateful beyond measure.  He was always such a polite, considerate boy, and no one in here had ever treated him unkindly.

Lydia whispered over her shoulder to another of the kitchen ladies, “Renai? Could you run and get his little nerf doll? We dropped her in the grand hallway, and I don’t want that dreadful droid finding it… Oh! And fetch Cadet Fannelin if she’s up, please.”

“Sure, whatever you need!” The young woman took off around the corner, pleased to be able to help.

After a final rinse, Lydia toweled him off and considered what to do about his wrist.  It needed to be cleaned as well, but she was afraid he’d start bleeding again if she let go.  _That wound was so deep… Did Brendol try to kill him? Why?_ Feeling the tide of her anger rush back in, she pushed those thoughts aside. _Hopefully, the moss will help keep it free of infection for now.  Just a few more hours to go before sunrise…_

Once he’d been clothed again, and cocooned in comfortable blankets, Lydia returned to her spot near the stove and let him curl up in her lap.  “There, now. Doesn’t that feel better?”

Armitage kept his eyes shut tight, but nodded.  The warm water had felt good, and it was so nice to not be dirty anymore.

He was still shivering, but more from pain than cold, now. Cassa brought over the bitter tea, and Lydia held it to his lips.  “Careful, baby, it’s hot.  It doesn’t taste very good but it will help with the pain.”

Tarine leaves were known for their analgesic properties. Though the tea probably wasn’t strong enough for what her little boy was suffering, it was the best she could do.  She let him sip it slowly and set it aside when a bleary-eyed Cadet Fannelin arrived with Renai.

“His arm is broken?”

“Yes, up here.” Lydia folded down the blankets for the cadet to see.  “Is there some way to immobilize it for now?”

The cadet nodded, stray locks of black hair tumbling from the hastily secured pins under her cap.  She tucked them back behind her ear and set about cutting up some dish towels into long strips of makeshift gauze.  She showed Lydia how to tie them around his small chest to hold his arm securely in place.  Armitage whimpered and bit his lip, and Lydia stroked his hair to soothe him.  “I know, baby, I know it hurts.  It’ll all be done soon.  Everything’s going to be ok.”

"How about his wrist? What happened there?”

“He was cut, badly.  We’ve been keeping pressure on it but it’s already bled a lot.  I was afraid to clean it because there’s clingmoss pressed to it.”

“That’s good, for now.” Fannelin pressed the back of her hand to his wan cheeks and forehead.  “He seems to still be in shock.  It’s good that you’ve kept him warm, but he should be lying down with his feet elevated.”

“I’ll take him back to my room.  It’s close.”

“He really shouldn’t be moved, but it might be better for him there.”  Things were starting to get busy in the kitchens, and soon it would be uncomfortably hot and noisy.

Lydia nodded, careful not to jostle him too much as she stood and made her way back to the room she shared with three others.  Fannelin pulled back the sheets and waited for Lydia to get Armitage settled.  He didn’t want to let go of his mother, but he did as he was told and stayed still as the two worked to make him more comfortable, propping his feet up with pillows and covering him with soft blankets.  Lydia held on to his wrist, wincing at his obvious distress.

 _“Ama?”_ he moaned, “I feel sick.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Do you want to lie on your side?”  Lydia looked to Cadet Fannelin, who nodded and reached to help roll him over.  He tensed and coughed as though he might vomit, but he swallowed it back with a groan and a sob.

“I’m so sorry, _ah’stor_.  Just close your eyes.  Try to rest.  I’ll stay right here.”

Armitage curled up and squeezed her hand, the strength going out of his fingers as he closed his eyes.   

Renai leaned in a short while later brandishing a freshly cleaned and dried Neffie.  Lydia sighed in relief and smiled.  Sliding her hand out of Armitage’s, she replaced it with the stuffed toy and whispered her thanks to Renai.  On instinct, he sleepily hugged it closer.

"His pulse feels so fast..." Lydia said, not voicing the rest of her thoughts in case he wasn't completely asleep, but when she turned to face Fannelin she could see that the cadet shared her fears.

"He needs stitches. And at least a transfusion. But, we've been out of blood for months now." The cadet averted her eyes, unable to face Lydia's desperation with the cold truth.  If Armitage didn’t receive real medical attention, and soon, he wouldn’t make it.

"I'm a match for his type. Can't you transfuse directly from me? Like in the HoloDramas?"

"Yes!" Fannelin looked up, excited and slightly ashamed that she'd not thought of that herself, "Yes, we can do that! It won't... well... it should at least help get him through the night."

"Ok. Let's do it."

Fannelin ran off to fetch the supplies while Lydia held fast to Armitage's wrist.  He groaned in his sleep and tried to shift away, but she stroked his hair and calmed him with a softly hummed lullaby. It killed her to have to press down so hard on his fragile arm, but the blood was still oozing through the towels and it didn’t seem to be stopping.  His cheeks were so pale and cold, and his fingers felt like little icicles.  _We can’t wait until sunrise…_

Her heart ached with uncertainty.  Any choice she made could still result in the death of her son.  If she waited here and tried the transfusion, it might buy him a few more hours of life, but then she’d still be stuck with the same, awful decision.  A Rebel camp lay not far from the academy.  They monitored the blockade and siege, and presumably held their invasion forces in reserve for when the shields finally went down, or the inhabitants were too weak from hunger and sleeplessness to fight back.  They would have medics, and medical supplies, but would the people who’d spent the last 6 months shelling children actually try to save one if she surrendered? Lydia had no love for the Imperials -- not after what Brendol had done to her -- but she was equally wary of a faction that would attack a school.

In the end, it wasn’t so much a choice as a resignation. He would die if she stayed here with him. His only chance lay with the Rebellion.

If she were going to do it, it had to be now, while Fannelin was out searching for the equipment.  The cadet had a good heart, and she'd want to stay around to look out for Armitage.

It would be a death sentence for him.

" _Ármi_ , baby," she whispered, "I'm sorry to wake you, but I need your help."

Lydia picked up one of the clean towels and threw one end around her neck.  With only one free hand, she couldn't tie it very securely by herself.  It was the best she could do to wave a white flag while carrying her son.  She hoped it would be enough.

Armitage mumbled something incoherent. Sitting up, even slightly, made him feel dizzy.  He helped her tie off the end of the towel and watched, bleary-eyed, as she floated her rain gear over to her and pulled her boots on one-by-one. "Are we going somewhere?"

"I'm going to get you some help. Hold on tight to Neffie, ok?"  He squeezed the little toy to his chest and she lifted him gently, using the Force to glide him and his blankets under her rain cloak and into her arms.

He groaned at the shift in position, and immediately apologized.

Lydia didn't understand. "What are you sorry for, baby?"

"I don't mean to complain. I'm weak. I'm sorry."

"Oh, _ah'stor..._ " She sensed his pain and fear, the undercurrent of contempt for himself, and his desperate attempt to hide all of those feelings.  Even after all this time living under Brendol's influence she still couldn't believe how much he'd damaged her son's sense of self-worth. "It's ok to be scared, or feel pain. It doesn't make you weak. I'm sorry I have to hurt you like this."

"It's ok, _Ama_ , I can take it."

The fire rose inside of her again.  It wasn't ok. He shouldn't have to take it.  He shouldn't have been made to feel that it was normal to be afraid and hurt.  She wished that she could explain that, or at least get him to understand that he was loved, and that she would do anything for him to be safe and happy, as a little boy should be.  But that would all take time.  She wasn’t sure how much time he had left.

"I love you, _Ármi_ ," she whispered.  "Just promise me you'll hold on. Don't give up."

"I promise, _Ama_." Softly, he added, "I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've ConLang-ed the shit out of some Arkanisian, based loosely on the phonetic sounds of Irish Gaelic and other made-up bits of fantasy language I've used before or seen in Star Wars. Here's what's being said in this chapter:
> 
> Ama - Mother  
> ah'lan - my son  
> ah'stor - my treasure  
> Tébrén iim! - I'm sorry! (lit. "Sorrow on me!")
> 
> -A special thank you to @xylavie for the beautiful art I commissioned. Hit her up on Twitter if you're looking for commissions!


	5. Chapter 5

 

  


Everything was dark under the heavy cloak.  He couldn't see where they were going, but even under the warmth of the blankets and rain gear he felt the temperature dropping.  Armitage knew he had to stay quiet, so he didn't ask, but he could tell they were in the servants' tunnels by the way his mother's footfalls slapped against the damp stone floor and echoed off the narrow cave walls.

_Are we sneaking into town? Is there even a town left? Or... Is she surrendering us to the Rebels?_

The last thought stirred a profound fear in him.  He shuddered.

_We can't go there! They'll kill us!_

Armitage knew better than to question an adult, but he couldn't stop worrying that maybe his mother was secretly a Rebel spy.  He didn't know how he felt about that, but he didn't want to die.

Lydia paused near the end of the tunnel, knowing she'd have to cross several meters of open courtyard before she made it to the relative safety of the woods.  Snipers took turns atop the parapet where Brendol lived with his wife, watching for deserters.  She took a deep breath to steady herself, and tucked her chin down to her collar to whisper to her son, " _Ármitage_ , if... if for some reason I fall, and I can't keep going, take hold of your wrist and keep running until you get to the Rebel outpost on the other side of the forest."

He wanted to acknowledge the order, but terror warred with reason.  He shouldn't lie to an adult, especially not to his mother, but he didn't think he was capable of doing what she asked.  In a tremulous voice, he admitted, " _Ama_ , I'm scared."

"I am, too, baby.  It's ok.  We're going to get through this."

He could hear the wailing storm whipping rain against the wooden door.  They'd come to the end of the tunnel. Armitage realized why they'd stopped, and why she'd said what she had. A swell of hope tempered his fear.  Maybe he knew something that could help? Even if his mother was a traitor, she was all he had -- the only person in the galaxy who’d ever shown him any kindness -- and he didn't want her to get hurt.

"When we were leaving, the commandant told the snipers to take a break for this watch.  Maybe they're still standing down?"

Lydia's shoulders drooped momentarily with the force of the pent up breath she released.  _Thank the stars!_ she thought, adding, "That's good news; thank you, _ah'stor_. You're such a smart boy."

He was glad she couldn't see the blush that colored his cheeks.  "Be careful, _Ama_."

"I will baby.  Ok, hold on tight.  Here we go."

The heavy door creaked on its rusty hinges, and then the howl of the wind deafened him to all other sounds but those closest to him: his mother's pounding feet, splashing through muddy puddles, her harried breathing, and the rain slashing at the oiled nerf hide cloak.  In the distance, thunder, or more bombs; he couldn't tell which.  She tried her best to keep him still, and Armitage tucked Neffie against his chin and grabbed hold of her dress, but she couldn't slow down for his comfort.  Armitage fought harder than ever to keep his whimpers to himself.  He knew she didn't want to hurt him, and his whining would only make her feel worse.

He must have passed out at some point, for the journey felt much shorter than it should have been.  The sounds of angry men's voices, muffled by the storm and the layers of cloth, brought him around.

"I said, drop whatever you're hiding under there and put your hands up! Slowly!"

"I can't," Lydia shouted back, her heart thumping even harder in her chest, "It's my son! He's just a little boy! He's injured and I can't let go! Please, help him!"

Several moments passed where Armitage couldn't hear anything but grumbling and unintelligible shouts. He didn't know whether he should move, or if his movements would cause the terrorists to hurt his mother.  He felt like he was floating, lost in a blind nightmare.

Heavy footsteps drew closer.  A deep voice sounded. "Stay right where you are. Don't move. If the scanning crew clears you, we'll escort you inside."

"Please, hurry," Lydia said, calmer but still shaking with fear and anxiety. "He's bleeding badly."

More time passed.  Someone lifted the cloak.  A gust of icy wind fluttered the blankets that had been tucked around him and he curled tighter into his mother's embrace, too frightened to make a sound.  He could feel her arms trembling from exhaustion as she held him closer.  He was light, thin and underfed, but she had slogged through several kilometers of difficult terrain and weather with him clutched to her chest.

The cloth dropped and everything went dark once more.

"Alright, follow me."

The roar of the rain and wind fell silent as they passed through the encampment's shield, but an entirely different cacophony rose to replace it.  Raucous voices, mostly men, some in alien languages, stopped, almost as one -- he could feel their eyes on them, even through the cloak -- then started up again, whooping and hollering.

"Our first deserter!"

Someone whistled.

"Nice catch, Carssen!"

"Imp trash! What did you think you'd find here?"

"Got the noose ready?"

Laughter.

Armitage yelped as the cloak was ripped away. Tears welled up in his eyes -- because of the sudden brightness, he told himself -- and he held fast to Neffie, burying his face against his mother's shoulder.

"Oh, what's this? A baby Imp!"

"A double hanging, then!”

“Oi, that’s a bit much, eh?”

"Alright, knock it off!" one of the soldiers next to them boomed.

Lydia whispered to the man in front of them, putting as much steel in her lowered voice as she could muster. "I'll tell you whatever you want, please, just help him."

The soldier frowned, looking her over once more as the two flanking her patted her down and nodded the all clear.

“This way. No sudden moves.”

Lydia nodded and followed him through several interlinked tents.  Fear settled deep in her bones, but she held herself together for her son’s sake.  She could feel him trembling, and leaned closer to kiss the top of his head and whisper, “ _Siid, am’nah. Ii cara’tarh noum hasim.”_

“What are you saying?”

“I’m just telling him that he won’t be harmed. I trust you won’t make a liar out of me?”

The soldier grunted and pushed aside a tent flap, motioning her inside with the tip of his blaster rifle.  “Vitaan, we’ve got an Imp deserter and her brat.  Get in there and keep an eye on ‘em.  They try anything funny, blast ‘em,” he grumbled to one of the guards outside, then stomped back to his post.

The man he’d addressed, though older and more gruff-looking, smiled a little when Armitage caught his eye.  He hurried in ahead of them and brought over a chair.  “Have a seat.  You must be exhausted.  You came all the way from the fortress?”

Lydia eyed him with suspicion.  She didn’t trust his friendly voice and mannerisms, most likely it was just a tactic to get her to open up, but it was a relief to be able to set Armitage on her lap and rest her arms.  Before she could stop herself, her fatigue and frustration got the better of her, and she spat, “Fortress? You mean academy full of children that you’re murdering? Yes.”  Vitaan’s apparent confusion and offense over her outburst reminded her that her son’s life was on the line and these were the only people who could help him. The fire died down to a simmer; though she refused to apologize, she softened her tone. “Please help him. He’s been hurt badly.”

“Of course," Vitaan smiled again, "The doc will be here shortly. There’s nothing to worry about.” He reached out to tousle the boy’s hair, but she pulled him away.  Khel understood her fear, and backed off to give them some space.  “You two must be hungry.”  Dipping his hand into a belt pouch, he procured two ration bars and offered them to the mother.  Her stomach growled as she glanced at them, but she didn’t take them. “Breakfast won’t be for another hour or so, but these should tide you over.”

 _Of course we’re hungry,_ she frowned, _No thanks to your people._   For the last three months, at least, they’d been surviving on nothing but bread and thin soup with whatever scant roots and mushrooms they could scrounge up in the woods.  However, painfully aware of the power this man held over their lives, Lydia forced out a short, “Thank you,” and pocketed the ration bars.

The tent flap pulled back and a Twi’lek woman in fatigues with a white armband entered.  She nodded to Vitaan and knelt in front of Lydia.  “I’m Hirani’aola.  You can call me Hira.  I’m one of the nurses here.”  Her smile was sleepy but genuine.  “Dr. Kalonia will be here soon.  You're his mother, right? Can I take a look at his injuries?”

Lydia nodded and shifted Armitage carefully in her lap.  “Yes, I am. His upper arm is broken, and he has a deep cut on his wrist that I can’t let go of; it won’t stop bleeding.”

“How did this happen?”

“His father did it,” Lydia grumbled, trying not to let her anger take hold again.

Hira’s smile wavered, and her gaze became even more serious when Armitage followed up with his explanation.

“He… he was just trying to get me to move,” his voice wavered and cracked under the strain of trying to suppress his tears, “I was too scared to follow him, and I-I… I disobeyed, so he grabbed my arm.”

“And this?” The nurse indicated the cut on his bruised and swollen cheekbone.

“I… I didn’t g-get out from under the bed and wake up fast enough.  He was in a hurry.”

Lydia grit her teeth, furious that he’d been made to see things as always his fault.  He was such a good, smart, considerate boy.  Always eager to please.  He hadn’t deserved _any_ of this.

Hira was struggling to keep her smile as well, so as to keep the boy at ease.  She took a deep breath before lightly touching the bloody towel covering his wrist.  “And what about this?”

“I did that,” he said, voice trembling in fear that he might face some sort of punishment for his actions.

Lydia stared at him in shock.

“Why did you hurt yourself?”

All at once, the story tumbled out of him. “Because there was a bomb that fell and it startled the commandant so he let go and I ran away as fast as I could but I needed a place to hide and the click-claw caves were right there but I knew they’d look for me in there so I had to make it look like one of them had eaten me so if it was dangerous enough they would go away and leave me alone but I-I-I…” his voice pitched upward as he fought back the urge to cry, “I cut too deep and I… there was blood everywhere and I couldn’t make it stop and, and I got everything so messy and… I’m sorry!”

“Oh, baby!” Lydia exclaimed, hugging him as tightly as she dared and kissing his face, “It’s not your fault! It’s ok. That was so smart of you! You’re so brave!”

Hira concurred, smiling and stroking his hair. “That was very brave, but very dangerous.  Let’s get that taken care of, ok?”

Armitage blushed and looked to his mother, as if for permission, waiting for her to smile and nod before he stammered, “Y-yes, ma’am.”

He was reluctant to let go of his mother when they carried him over to set him down in a frightening-looking reclining chair with restraints along the arm and leg rests.  Eventually, obedience won out over his own desires, as it always did. He managed to hold in his tears, but he couldn’t stop shaking as the nurse unwound the makeshift sling.

“It’s ok, _ah’stor_. _Ii cara’tarh noum hasim._ I’ll be right here.”  Lydia allowed her relief, and happiness that he was finally getting the help he needed, to show in her smile.  “Just look at me,” she said, tilting his face toward her to distract him from the preparations the nurse was making.  “That’s it. That’s good. I know you’re scared. It’s ok to be scared.” She took Neffie from his lap and held her up. “Neffie’s a little scared, too. Maybe you can hold her and you’ll both feel better?”

He nodded and held her close, burying his face in her soft fluff to hide his embarrassment.  “It’s ok, Neffie. Don’t be s-scared.”  He felt silly talking to her in front of strangers, but it did make him feel a little braver.

Lydia smiled watching him comfort the stuffed toy.  At least Brendol hadn’t entirely beaten out his empathy and imagination.  She hadn’t had much chance to think about the future in all of this, but now a tiny bud of hope bloomed in her heart.  He was gone.  He wouldn’t be back.  Of that, she was certain.  Brendol, for all his bluster and sadism, was really a coward.  Arkanis would fall, and they would never have to see him again.  She and Armitage, and the little one on the way, would have all the time in the world to heal and be a real family together.

Another woman, about ten years older than Lydia, entered the tent.  She smiled at Lydia and Armitage then got straight to business.  Her white coat flapped out behind her like wings as she strode over to the cart where the nurse was laying out all the necessary surgical tools.  “What’s the situation?”

Hira replied without even looking up from her prep work.  “Radial arterial laceration, compound fracture of the humerus, just under the deltoid tuberosity, and possible orbital fracture.  Minor lacerations to the hands, arms, legs, and feet.  I’ve prepped fluids and typed his blood for transfusion.”

“Alright. Let’s get him started on the IVs.”  She turned to Lydia.  “You’re his mother?”

“Yes.”

“You can stay, but I’ll need you to step over there and get scrubbed in and covered.  We need to keep this area as clean as possible for his safety.  The toy will have to go, I’m afraid.”

Seeing the panic rise in the little boy’s eyes, Khel stepped forward.  “I could take it to the sonic showers and get it disinfected, if that would be alright, sir?”

The doctor looked Lydia over, briefly considering her own safety and the safety of her staff if they went unguarded, but decided this poor, desperate mother would be no threat.  She nodded her assent, “That would be fine.”  Taking a moment, she crouched down beside the mother to speak to the little boy.  He shivered and recoiled slightly.  Dr. Kalonia put on her most winning smile.  “Hello, there, young man.  What’s your name?”

“Armitage Hux, ma’am.”

The room fell silent at the name, but the doctor continued, undaunted, “That’s a lovely name.  It’s a pleasure to meet you, Armitage.  I’m Dr. Kalonia.  And this is…?”  She gave the stuffed nerf a pat on the head.

“Neffie, ma’am.”

“What a polite young man you are,” she smiled. “Do you think I could trouble you to let us give Neffie, here, a bath? That way, you’ll be able to hold her while we operate on you.”  He seemed hesitant, looking to his toy and to his mother, but she could tell he was worried about disobeying, so she followed-up with a promise, “We’ll bring her right back, good as new.”

“Y-yes, ma’am,” he said, reluctantly offering the little nerf to the soldier.  Armitage craned his neck to watch the man leave, worried it might be the last time he ever saw his precious Neffie.

“And if you’ll step through that flap over there,” the doctor said to Lydia, motioning behind her, “Hira will show you how to scrub in.”

Armitage was alarmed at the possibility of being alone with the enemy, even if they were being awfully nice to him.  His eyes widened and his breathing quickened again, leaving him slightly dizzy.

“I’ll make sure his wound is secure.  You can let go now.”

Lydia kissed her son’s forehead again and tucked a few errant strands of hair behind his ear.  “I’ll be right back.”  She had difficulty letting go of his wrist, not just because she feared leaving him alone, but because her fingers had cramped up, having held the same position for so long. 

Dr. Kalonia slid her thumb into place at the crook of his elbow, apologizing as she did so.  “I’m sorry, Armitage, this is going to be a little uncomfortable.”

He winced but nodded.  “It’s ok,” he said, tensing for the pain.  It was always only a matter of time before someone hurt him.  He was used to it.

Lydia patted his head on the way out, “Be truthful, _ah’lan_. Tell us if it hurts, ok?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, averting his eyes so she wouldn’t detect the lie in them.  He was more scared than anything, but he wanted to be brave for his mother.

“You’re so good, baby. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

Alone with the doctor, and with no Neffie to comfort him, Armitage looked around the room for a distraction.  Over his shoulder he spotted a recharging medical droid.  Though he knew he shouldn’t speak unless spoken to, his natural curiosity couldn’t be suppressed in his addled, light-headed state.  In a timid voice, he asked, “Is that a 2-1B-23?”

“Mm-hmm,” Dr. Kalonia smiled, impressed by the young boy’s knowledge. “How could you tell?”

“It has a longer computer interface tether, and four extra modified ports for surgical tools.”

She was rather surprised by the boy’s observation and conversational skills.  He was a bright boy, indeed.  “You have a good eye.  You must like droids very much.”

“Yes, ma’am; I like building and reading about them.”

“Oh? You make your own?”

“Well, no… not exactly.  But, I sometimes modify the ones around the campus.  I did put together and old mouse droid, once.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It is!” He almost smiled, but then remembered he was speaking to the enemy and bit his lip in uncertainty, suddenly becoming shy again.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know if… I probably shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“That’s ok. I understand,” she smiled. “We don’t have to talk if it makes you uncomfortable.”

She could see the warring emotions in his pained expression.  He _did_ want to ask more questions.

Talking about the droid had taken his mind off his pain momentarily, and now that he wasn’t distracted he felt a bit nauseous.  Dr. Kalonia had unwrapped the towel from his wrist while they’d been chatting, and now he could see the hideous gash he’d inflicted on himself.  She picked away the strands of moss that weren’t embedded, taking care to cause him as little pain as possible.

“Did your mother put this here?”

He brightened up.  At least if he were asked a direct question, he felt he could answer.  It would be rude not to.  “No, ma’am.  I did.”

“That was very smart of you; it helped to save your life.”

Armitage watched her, wide-eyed and bracing for more pain as she cleaned around the edges of the wound.  He was surprised that it hurt very little.  His anxiety and the anticipation of agony made it worse than it actually was.  Besides, his face and his broken arm ached more than the cut.

A few minutes later his mother returned as promised; long hair tied back, face half-hidden behind a mask, and surgical gloves covering her dainty hands.  When Hira came back, she searched over his other arm for good veins to run the fluids, but he was so cold it was difficult to locate any.  She tied a rubber tourniquet around his good arm and apologized. "I'm sorry, Armitage, this is going to be uncomfortable for a while. I have to find your veins so I can give you more blood and fluids. Can you make a fist for me?"

He bit his lip and nodded, wishing even more that he had his Neffie when he saw the needles for the IVs come out.  His breathing quickened and he felt the room start to spin.

Lydia held his hand, telling him it was ok, that he was doing so well and being so brave, but he didn't feel brave at all.  He wanted to run, but he was so weak and shaking so much he could hardly turn his head without feeling ill.

“Just try to take deep breaths and relax, baby. It'll all be over soon. Breathe with me, ok?"

Lydia took a deep breath and held it for a moment before letting it out again slowly.  Armitage mimicked her, fighting against his instinct to panic.

"There you go. Keep going. Just like this."

He'd almost been distracted enough by the nurse poking at his arm that he didn't see the doctor pull out two larger syringes.  She reached up to swab his shoulder and he caught the motion from the corner of his eye.  He gasped at the length of the sinister needles, but his mother turned his chin toward her again.

“Just look at me, _Ármi_. Everything’s going to be ok. Breathe.”

He looked deep into her eyes, pleading for help, feeling dangerously close to wetting himself again.  Lydia smiled and stroked his uninjured cheek.  A deep breath took in the astringent sting of the disinfectant and the powdery scent of the rubber glove on her hand.  She countered his fears with logic, something she knew often served to ground him in times of distress.  “Have I ever hurt you?"

"No, ma'am."

"Has the doctor hurt you?”

Not _this_ doctor.  Not really.  _Yet._   She seemed nice, contrary to everything he had experienced of doctors thus far.  He had to admit, “N-no, ma’am.”

“Do you have any reason to think she’s going to?”

He wanted to argue that the needles would hurt, but he knew that what they contained had more possibility of causing him pain than the needles themselves.  Still, he couldn’t very well accuse her with her sitting but centimeters away, even if she was a Rebel.  “No, ma’am.”

Dr. Kalonia smiled at Lydia and slid the first needle into Armitage’s shoulder.

“And what usually happens before a surgery?”

He hissed a little at the twinge in his shoulder.  “The doctors kn-knock you out.  Or give you an anesthetic.  So you don’t feel anything.”

“That’s right,” Lydia smiled. “And you’re about to have surgery, so do you think these drugs are going to hurt you?”

Against all learned experience he admitted, “No, ma’am,” and glanced down in shame. “But… but she’s the enemy.”

“Do enemies help each other out?”

“No… well, sometimes. Maybe.”

“Then, maybe this is one of those times?”

He didn’t even feel the second needle go in.  Already, his arm felt numb and strangely detached.  The flap at the front of the tent opened again and in strode the grizzled soldier from before.  In his gloved hands he held Armitage’s most prized possession, looking as fluffy and soft as the day his mother had made her for him.  “Yes, ma’am. I think, maybe, it is.”

“Ok, then.” Lydia smiled and squeezed his hand.  “ _Miwarh?_ It’s ok to be a little afraid -- we all get scared sometimes -- but you mustn’t let it control you.”

He nodded, feeling safer now with her logic and his little Neffie once more in his grasp.  All of the IVs and injections had been attended to, and he’d hardly noticed.  He still felt a little nauseous, but he clutched one of Neffie’s hooves in his hand and noticed that someone had made a little gauze bandage for her leg as well.  He put her on his lap and stroked her fuzzy head, forgetting all about his own discomfort.  “It’s ok, Neffie. The doctor will make us better soon.”

Seeing Armitage in good hands, and reasonably well and comfortable, Lydia turned to the soldier and smiled, feeling ashamed that she’d behaved so rudely toward him earlier.  Rebel or not, he’d been kind to her and her son.  “Thank you,” she said, more sincerely than the last time.

“You don’t need to thank me. He deserves to be happy.”

Her smile brightened at that. “Yes.  Yes, he does.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Arkanisian in this chapter translates to:
> 
> Siid, am’nah. Ii cara’tarh noum hasim. -- Steady, little one. I won't let them hurt you. (lit. I allow you no harm.)
> 
> Miwarh? -- See?


	6. Chapter 6

The little boy fought so hard to control his fear and be brave for his mother.  His lip trembled and his eyes watered, but he refused to cry even as he caught a glimpse of his forearm flayed open on the operating tray.  His resilience struck Khel with a note of sadness, not because he knew anything of the frightening abuse the boy had suffered, but because his horrified countenance reminded Khel of his own son, Brandt.  He'd been a few years older, but he'd courageously suppressed his own terror when he'd been beaten by Imperials for trying to defend his mother and escape from a firing squad.  Khel would never forget Brandt's haunted gaze as he realized he was about to die; the image had been seared into his soul.

Khel's squadmates hadn't been able to keep the grainy HoloVid from him when he'd heard about the slaughter.  The official newscast had omitted the grisly details, but not the unedited version that came through military backchannels.  He'd watched it, over and over again, at first in a mad endeavor to convince himself it wasn't real, and then in a vain attempt to somehow alter the past.  If he stopped the recording before they died then perhaps he could somehow prevent their deaths. 

Anger turned to guilt turned to numbness.

They'd been killed because of him, because of his commitment to the Rebellion. The Imperials had discovered that he'd been involved in a bombing run on one of their remote outposts, and they'd rounded up his family, and the families of other "suspected terrorists", and murdered them in the streets as an example. 

Everyone in Khel's squad had a similar story.  They'd all lost lovers, daughters, husbands, friends to the Imperial war machine.  They all hated the Imps with a passion bordering on obsession.  And now, here he was helping one.  

He shook his head.  _That was three years ago.  These people had nothing to do with it._

The boy was watching him.  Khel felt his face go hot.  _Can he hear my thoughts?_

_No. That’s absurd.  The Empire doesn't allow Force-sensitives to live. Do they? He's probably just trying to distract himself._

Khel smiled, even though Armitage didn't return the gesture.

_Poor thing must be terrified, seeing something like this.  Even if he can't feel the pain of it, most grown men wouldn't hold up this well._

Armitage did his best to remain still, but the nurse had to keep the boy's tiny forearm pinned down to the armrest; he was too small to fit in the restraints and, try as he might, he couldn’t stop trembling in fear.  Still, he didn’t try to pull away, despite his obvious desire to flee.  Khel wondered what could have caused a boy of barely 5 years to display such fortitude.  When he was 7 and broke his arm falling from a tree, he’d cried all the way to the hospital and back; he’d been so frantic they’d had to put him under to set the bone.

 _He said his father was in a hurry to get out… but that doesn’t excuse such violence. Even accidentally. I guess that’s just how Imperials are with their kids. No wonder they grow up to be so callous. Disgusting._   Khel frowned, wishing he could do more to show this frightened child that the world wasn’t like that; that it _shouldn’t_ be like that. That’s what he was fighting for. For all children.

Even for the son of the Imperial scum they were trying to capture.

The dossier on Brendol Hux and the other senior officials at the fortress read like a who’s who of sadistic minds in the galaxy. Even his wife, Maratelle, was well known to have made her family fortune in arms dealing and the funding of weapons and other, more dubious research.  The programs being run at the so-called academy were of top-tier value to military intelligence, and their heinous nature demanded that they be shut down at all costs.  For the last 16 years, the Huxes had been developing methods to destroy the independence and free-will of the Empire’s own citizens, beginning with anyone who dared to speak out against Imperial rule.  No doubt it was also being used to subdue and turn captured members of the Rebellion.  The rare few who had escaped Area Null to speak of Project Unity described it as a horrifying subversion of the self through physical, mental, and chemical torture.

It had to be stopped, even if there were, as this woman said, children in that fortress.

This woman, who claimed to be the boy’s mother but was _not_ Maratelle.

The boy was certainly Armitage Hux; while Khel was away sanitizing the doll, he had a sample of the blood from its synthfur analyzed.  The result was a definite match for their files.  But, who was she? Could this be some kind of a trick? Perhaps she was his nanny, hoping to pass long enough to infiltrate and destroy them from within.

Worry creased his brow as he watched Dr. Kalonia close up the surgery and rest the boy’s arm in a trough of gently circulating Bacta.  The mystery woman seemed sincere in her concern for the child; Khel recognized the look in her eyes as the same one his dear Pella had had whenever Brandt would fall ill or hurt himself roughhousing.  She loved this boy; of that, he had no doubt.  But she wasn’t his mother.

Maybe the boy wasn’t as innocent as he looked, either. What if there weren’t any children at that “academy” at all, and it was just a ruse to keep them from attacking with their full force?

Guilt and self-loathing welled up within him.  _What has this war done to me? Am I really going to accuse a child of spying? Or this woman of lying about her reason for bringing him here? Or justify attacking a school, if that’s what it really is? I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation for all of this._

After a while, Armitage passed out again, exhausted from the blood loss and the trials he’d endured.  Whatever came of this, Khel was glad the boy had received medical care in time.  No more children needed to die in this senseless fighting.  The Emperor was dead.  The war was over.  At least, it was _supposed_ to be.

He pulled up a chair beside the woman, but kept a respectful distance. Quietly, he asked, “Who are you, really? We know you’re not Maratelle.”

The woman shot him a fiery glare. “I never said I was.”

“You said you were his mother.”

“I am.”

The insulted, angry look she gave him said more than any words could have explained.  Khel understood the implications immediately, but he didn’t know what to say.  He couldn’t believe his own idiocy.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” she hissed.

He hastened to stumble through an apology. “N-no. No! I, uh, I’m… sorry.”  

Khel sat for a while, fidgeting in the awkward silence and considering how to broach the subject.  He didn’t want to interrogate her right here, after all they’d just been through, but time was of the essence.  “Listen, I don’t like to waste time, and I’ve already put my foot so far in my mouth I might as well out with it: you said you’d help us if we helped him.”  Her frown stayed in place but she listened to him without interrupting.  “I don’t want to press you right now, but we’re running out of time.  _Your_ people are running out of time.  And if there really are children in there, then your intel could be an invaluable asset to keeping them alive when we go in.  We don’t _want_ to hurt anyone.  We just want to take that fortress as quickly and painlessly as possible.  Help us do that.”

Lydia took a deep breath, stuffing down her indignation.  Of course she intended to uphold her end of the bargain.  “Can you promise me he’ll be safe here? That they won’t hurt him or take him away from me?”

Khel didn’t really have the authority to make that kind of decision, but he thought it wouldn’t be too out-of-bounds.  He couldn’t imagine anyone in High Command trying to separate a mother from her child.  “Yes. I give you my word.”

She didn’t know if she could trust him, but so far the Rebels had treated them fairly.  “There are children there.  Some as young as 14.  It’s an officer training academy; that much is true.  But… what he’s done to those kids… they’re loyal.  To the death.  They will fight you.  They won’t run.  They won’t surrender.  But, they are still _children_.  You _have_ to promise me you’ll try to take them unharmed.  I won’t be responsible for their deaths.  Please, don’t make me carry that.”

Khel nodded, his stomach turning at the thought that he himself might have already killed some of them in bombing runs.  “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure we take prisoners.  The Republic doesn’t refuse quarter to a routed enemy.”

Taking another deep breath, and saying a silent prayer that this man would be true to his word, Lydia confessed how she’d escaped the fortress and detailed how they could sneak past the snipers to enter through the servants’ tunnels.  Khel listened, taking notes down on his datapad and conferring with her over various HoloMaps.  When she had finished, he called it in to his superiors and thanked her.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat, weighed down by a deep sense of betrayal.  But, looking to her son, sleeping peacefully beside her, safe and warm, she knew she’d made the right decision.


	7. Chapter 7

  


  
  


 

The Arkanis Academy fell within two days of Brendol’s sudden departure.  Without his guidance, morale rapidly deteriorated.  He’d been strict, but his harsh determination and discipline, though often overbearing, had been just what the beleaguered students needed to keep up the fight.  His betrayal struck a deeper blow than all the Rebel bombs combined.  The Commandant’s Cadets had the hardest time with it; convinced that this was a test of their loyalties, every last one of them fought to the death.  Other students had a stronger sense of self-preservation, and turned themselves in soon after the fortress’ defenses were breached.

Under Princess Leia’s personal guidance, casualties were kept to a minimum, though Lydia was still dismayed by the number of fatalities.  A sense of personal responsibility for their deaths weighed like a stone in her stomach.  Even though many had ignored her presence, while feeding them day in and day out she felt like a surrogate mother to each and every one of them.  At least, now, she had her worry for Armitage to distract her from the guilt.

Armitage bounced back quickly from his injuries -- as children often did -- having spent a day in a Bacta tank to heal his broken bones and the incision in his wrist.  Lydia spent every moment beside him, singing him lullabies and pressing little Neffie up against the transparisteel of the tank so he could see her when he got scared.  On the second day, he was assigned bed rest in order to get his fluid balance back to normal.  Lydia watched as he bounced Neffie up and down the hills and valleys of the crisp, white sheets, no longer troubled by the IV still in his arm.

All night and day wounded Rebels had been filling in the row of empty beds beside them.  Lydia didn't know where the Imperials were being treated, assuming they _were_ being given medical attention, but no one had come to move them, so she and Armitage tried to stay quiet and unassuming to ward off any undue suspicion.  Captain Vitaan had become a warm and welcome presence to them, especially when other, less scrupulous soldiers leered at her.

A commotion outside caught their attention, and they all looked up toward the tent flap.  A woman's voice, sharp and authoritative, spoke up.

"Excuse me? It's a child and his mother. Just how dangerous do you expect them to be?"

"With all due respect, Your Highness, you saw how the children in that fortress fought—"

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I was there. I know. If they were so dangerous then why have they been allowed to stay with our wounded? They are under guard, aren't they?"

The soldier's voice, more subdued, "Yes, Your Highness.”

“Well then, do not presume to tell me my place in our own encampment.”  She was already halfway into the room by the time the guard conceded.  Lydia recognized her immediately, though it took her a moment to believe her eyes.

_Princess Leia Organa!_

Lieutenant Vitaan stood at attention and saluted as she drew nearer.

Lydia didn't know what to do.  _Do I bow? Salute? But I'm not one of her people. Well, maybe I am now..._ Undecided, Lydia hopped to her feet to show some kind of respect, and Armitage started to do the same.  He was eager to be out of bed, even if he was still somewhat unsteady.

Leia waved her delicate hand and favored them both with a warm smile. "No, no. Don't get up on my account. Please." She pulled up a chair to sit beside them.

Armitage stared at her, wide-eyed, but then seemed to remember his manners and looked to his mother.  If he’d thought the doctors and soldiers here were bad people, she was enemy number one!

“You must be young Master Armitage Hux.”

“Yes, ma— Your Highness,” Armitage corrected himself.  Even if she was the enemy, she was still a princess.

Leia smiled at his politeness, but shook her head.  “Just Leia is fine.”  She turned to Lydia.  “And you are?”

“Lydia Moore. I’m his mother.”

“I wanted to thank you, personally, for the information you gave us.  I’m sure it must have been difficult for you, but your sacrifice helped us to limit casualties on both sides, and for that, you should be proud.”

Lydia blushed.  She didn’t feel proud, but the princess was right, after all.

“We have my son to thank for some of it,” she ruffled Armitage’s frizzy hair.  “But, what’s going to happen to us now? Is there anything left of the academy buildings?”

“The wall of one of the outer buildings collapsed, but the main fortress is intact, and we’ve already begun rebuilding what damage was done.”

“To what end?”

Leia admired this woman’s bravery and directness, so she only considered a moment before confessing, “We intend to use it as a permanent base for monitoring Imperial activities in the Outer Rim.  Its location at the crossroads of two major trade routes facilitates that.  The school will be maintained and expanded to include my brother’s plans to begin a Jedi academy.  You needn’t worry about having a place to stay.  This is Armitage’s home and inheritance, and I wouldn’t take that from him.  If you wish, once everything is cleared for safety, you’re both welcome to move back in.”

“We can go home?” Armitage asked, timid but hopeful. “You’re not going to imprison us?”

“Of course not!” Leia smiled again to cover her surprise.  She knew that Imperial propaganda was prevalent and pervasive, but she hadn’t realized just how young they started.  Just another reason to believe that what they were doing was right, no matter the cost, if it could prevent the further indoctrination of children.  “So long as you aren’t contacting or aiding the Imperials, you’re free to come and go as you please,” she gave him a sly smile, “You’re not a spy, are you? I bet you'd make an excellent spy.”

He blushed all the way to his ears. “No, ma’am… but… I _could_ be.”

Leia laughed.  “I’m sure that you could, but I’m going to trust you. Ok? You wouldn’t want to break the trust of a princess, would you?”

Armitage shook his head so vigorously he nearly made himself dizzy, “No, ma’am!”

“Alright, then.  It’s settled.  You’ll stay here and you promise you won’t spy on us.  Deal?” She reached out her hand.

He looked at her hand in awe.  He’d never been offered a sense of equality and respect like this.  It terrified him that he might inadvertently break his promise, and then what? Armitage gulped down the nervous lump in his throat and thrust his hand out to shake hers.  “Deal.”

“Your Highness, you’re needed in the—,” a soldier called from the entryway.

Leia held up a finger to indicate that she needed a moment more.  “Armitage, can I ask you a question?”

He wanted to reply that she just had, but thought better of sassing royalty.  “Yes, ma’am.”

“Do you know where your father is?”

“Are you going to arrest him?”

Leia took a deep breath, worried that the answer might change his reply, but she knew that telling the truth to this child was the start of showing him the same trust that she expected of him. “Yes, I’m afraid we’ll have to.  He’s done some terrible things.”

“I know,” Armitage cast his gaze downward, fidgeting and clutching Neffie close.  Lydia reached out instinctively to smooth his hair and comfort him.

Even after having read the boy’s medical file, Leia feared that he’d not want to give up his own father.  Abused children were often afraid of reporting on their abusers, especially when those abusers were family.  She wished she didn’t have to put him through such a complex and painful dilemma. 

“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.  I was still half-asleep when he came to get me…” he looked sad for a moment but then brightened at a sudden memory, “I remember the ship, though! It was a heavily modified XS freighter, and the pilot was a man. Human, I’m pretty sure.” Armitage closed his eyes, recalling every detail of the event that seemed relevant. “He was tall and thin, both more so than my father, and he was graceful even though he was wearing bits of salvaged body armor.  It was red and violet -- the armor -- over a black bodysuit.  And he wore a red headband.” Armitage’s frown of concentration deepened.  “He… argued with my father about taking things with him, but neither of them ever said his name.  He told us we both had to go somewhere far away to meet with the other Imperials who were planning a resurgence.  He said that Counselor Rax said I was ‘special’ and that they ‘needed me’ for the future of the Empire.”

Surprised that he’d been able to recount the event in such detail, and that he’d been willing to share it with her, Leia thanked him and turned to go.  She needed to think on this information, especially the possible implications of that ominous-sounding last sentence.

Lydia stood and caught her hand.  The guards tensed and adjusted their blasters, but Leia and Lieutenant Vitaan shot them a warning glare. 

“Pardon me, Your— Leia.  I wanted to thank you for taking care of us.  Your doctors saved my son’s life; I owe you a great debt.”

She nodded toward Armitage, “Consider it paid.” She smiled again, “Though, I have no doubt you two would be great assets to the cause if you decided to join us.  Please think about it.”

“I will,” Lydia assured her, letting go of her hand and looking down at the slight bulge of Leia’s stomach.  She leaned closer to whisper, “And, if you need anything for your own little one, just let me know.  Arkanis is home to many herbs and remedies for easing childbirth.”

Leia grinned and blushed; she thought she’d hidden her pregnancy well, under layers of clothing and armor, but somehow mothers always knew. “Thank you.  I just might take you up on that.”


	8. Chapter 8

Armitage didn't see what all the fuss was about.

It was just a baby.

Babies didn't _do_ anything.

Well, to be fair, they did do a lot of crying and fussing, and other unpleasant bodily processes.  

Armitage would just as well be out wandering around the city.  Hanna City was bigger than anything he'd ever seen outside of HoloNews broadcasts and the HoloDramas his mother loved. There was so much to be explored, but he was stuck here, in the princess' apartments, standing beside his mother and watching the tiny bundle burble and squirm in Leia's arms while all the adults seemed mesmerized.

Armitage wondered if he'd cried that much.  He imagined not.  His father had forbidden such raucous displays of undisciplined behavior.

His mother had tried, time and again, to tell him it was ok to cry, but he lived in fear of failing such an obvious test.  Just because Brendol wasn’t around now, didn’t mean he might not be watching somehow.  As it was, baby Ben's shrieks of alternating glee and anger unsettled him.  He expected violence to erupt at any moment, but Leia and Han, and even the very large and imposing Wookiee, simply cooed at the baby and soothed him with soft touches and gentle whispers.

He wondered what it would be like when his sister came.  Soon, his mother said. 

 _Too soon_ , Armitage thought. 

" _Ama_?" He tugged at his mother's skirt.

Ben stopped crying at the sound of the new voice and looked around for its source.

"Yes, baby?" Lydia reached out to smooth his hair back.

The other boy in the room, a toddler by the name of Poe, stopped fidgeting with his plush X-Wing and looked down at him from his perch on his mother's hip.  Armitage felt as if the entire room's attention had turned to him and he blushed, feeling guilty.  "May I be excused?"

"Of course," she smiled, a little confused by his request. "But don't wander out past the courtyard without 3PO or BB-8."

"Oh, dear,” the protocol droid complained in his prissy tone, “Certainly, I couldn't be expected to keep up with the young master!"  BB-8 chirped happily and rolled over to look Armitage up and down, his servo motors whirring as his head tipped from side to side, focusing his big, black photoreceptor on him.  C-3PO responded, "Well then, I'm sure you'd be much better suited for the role, if you'll pardon the terrible pun."

"Getting rusty in your old age, Goldenrod?" Han quipped.

"Well, I never!" 3PO looked as taken aback as an expressionless droid could.  "I am perfectly capable of continuing my duties, Master Solo. In fact, I have downloaded and analyzed over 5,421 nanny droid protocols to aid with the arriv--"

"It was rhetorical, 3PO," Han grumbled.

“Oh, goodness! Pardon me, Master Solo.”

"Can I go out exploring with BB-8?" Armitage allowed a note of hope to sound in his voice.  "Please, _Ama_?"

Lydia looked to Shara for permission.  Shara just shrugged and used the momentum to rebalance Poe on her hip.  "Fine by me.  He's a resilient little droid.  Armitage will be in good hands."

Lydia nodded. "Alright, but be back in time for dinner."

"Yes, ma'am!" Armitage beamed.  He loved droids.  Getting to explore a new planet with one would be even more exciting than going it alone.  He started to scurry off, but stopped when Poe began wailing in anguish, “BB! BB! I want BB! Don’ go!”

BB-8 chirped inquisitively and rolled back toward Poe.  Ben started crying again at the sound of Poe’s raised voice.

Armitage sighed. 

“ _Ármi_ , why don’t you take Poe with you? You three could play in the courtyard together.”

He sulked back to his mother and gestured for her to lean over so that he could tell her something.  In an exaggerated whisper he said, “But, _Ama_ , he’s only three; he can’t even speak Basic properly…”

“Yuh-huh! I can!” Poe shouted and pushed his bottom lip out in a pout.

Armitage shot Poe a warning side-eye.  Poe stuck out his tongue.  Armitage’s frown deepened and his lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t retaliate.  That would be childish.

“Please, _Ármi,_ just for now.”  Lydia leaned closer to whisper properly, “He has to go to bed before you, so you can play with the droid by yourself for a while after he goes to bed, ok?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, trying to keep the disappointment from saturating his voice.  To Poe, who was already shimmying down his mother’s leg, he said, “Come on, then.”

The insult of just a few seconds ago forgotten, Poe yipped in delight and toddled after Armitage while making whooshing sounds and spinning his X-Wing around in loops.  BB-8 rolled ahead of them and led the way through a series of turbolifts down to the park that surrounded the towering, stone apartment building.  Armitage followed, watching Poe out of the corner of his eye.  “May I see your T-65B?”

“My what?”

Armitage pointed to the toy.

“Iss an X-Wing,” Poe said, holding the stuffed toy out to the older boy.

“Well, properly, it’s an Incom Corporation T-65B X-Wing Starfighter.”  Armitage took it and turned it around in his hands, assessing its craftsmanship and detail.

“Thass what I said!”

Armitage sighed again and shrugged his shoulders.  “Fine, whatever.  It’s approximately 1.5 centimeters too short, and almost 2 centimeters too short across its wingspan, assuming it’s meant to be to scale.  And, it’s missing the flashback suppressors.”

Poe wasn’t sure what Armitage meant, but he was pretty sure he could tell an insult when he heard one.  “Give it back!”

Armitage held out the stuffed toy and Poe snatched it away.  He wanted to stick out his tongue again, but he wasn’t entirely sure Armitage was being mean enough to deserve it.  Yet.

BB-8, sensing the rising tension, rolled back toward them and blatted a flat trill of annoyance.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything bad by it.  I didn’t know his father made it for him.”

Poe’s demeanor changed from standoffish suspicion to instantaneous delight. “You know Binary?”

“Yes, of course,” it was Armitage’s turn to be slightly offended. “BB-8 speaks 27th generation droidspeak; I learned 25th and 26th gen Binary in school, but 27th is much simpler.”

“Cool!” Poe beamed, then rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.  “I dunno it so good.”

“I’m sure you’ll learn it well someday,” Armitage offered by way of a truce.  “After all, you get to live with him.”  He patted BB-8’s dome.  The droid bleeped happily.

“Uh-huh!” He nodded. “You got a droid?”

“I had a nanny droid…” Armitage grinned and leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, “but she was mean to me, so I snuck out in the middle of the night and reprogrammed her.  Her name’s DeeDee, but now I call her DumDum and she can’t do anything about it.”

Poe snickered at Armitage’s mischief, but inwardly he was a little scared, too.  BB-8 beeped in alarm and backed away a little.

Armitage’s smile widened, a semblance of pride blooming in his heart.  “Don’t worry, BB-8.  I wouldn’t do that to you.  She deserved it.  She was sneaky, and cruel, and spied on people, and then she tattled to my father.”  The memory of his father’s retributions dimmed his momentary joy.  “He always said, ‘Snitches get stitches,’ so…” he shrugged, “she got hers.”

“Snitches get stitches!” Poe repeated, laughing.  He said it again and again, cavorting around and mimicking Armitage’s Imperial accent, enjoying the sound and rhythm of the foreign phrase on his tongue. “I like it! Wassit mean?”

Armitage frowned, suddenly conscious of the fact that he didn’t sound like the other people he’d met so far on this planet and unsure if he was being mocked.  “It means if you tattle on someone, you get punished.”

“Punished? How?”

“You know, beat up. Whipped. Locked in the box. Whatever.”

Poe’s eyes widened.  He’d never been hit.  Not by anyone.  Though he’d seen fights in HoloDramas, he didn’t think people behaved that way in real life.  Especially not parents.  Parents loved you no matter what.  The realization that one day they might not frightened him.  “Your papa hits you?”

Armitage shrugged, confused.  “Yes... Doesn’t yours?”

Poe thought that if his eyes got any wider they’d fall out of his face and roll off into the garden.  He shook his head carefully.  “Nuh-uh.”

Armitage didn’t believe for a second that this whiney, wild three-year old had never gotten into trouble.  “You mean, you just haven’t got caught yet.”

“No.”  He’d been in trouble lots of times, but neither his mama, nor his papa, had ever tried to hit him.  The idea that they might, someday, made tears well up in his big, brown eyes.  He couldn’t believe it.  He _wouldn’t_.  “You jus wanna scare me! You’re a liar, ‘n I’mma tell!”

Armitage balked, offended by Poe’s accusation and threat.  He sneered back a threat of his own.  “You had better not.  Snitches get stitches, remember?”  He raised a clenched fist, though he had no real intention of hitting the younger boy.

Poe yelped and jumped back a step, but he didn’t run away, as much as he wanted to.  Armitage may have been older, but Poe was almost as big as he was.  If this were going to be his first fight, he liked his odds.  He put up his fists like he’d seen his papa do in boxing practice and taunted his rival.  “Liar, liar, pants on fire!”  Before Armitage could do anything, BB-8 rolled between the two of them and squealed a string of vulgar ultimatums. 

“I am not a liar!” Armitage shouted, feeling the sting of tears in his own eyes.

“Hey now, what’s all this about?”

Armitage whirled to find Han towering over the both of them, arms folded across his chest, glaring down his nose.  He snapped to attention, trembling under Han’s imposing height.  “Nothing, sir.”

“Armie says his papa hits him! He’s a liar!”

Lowering his head, in the hope that Han wouldn’t see the truth in his embarrassed flush, Armitage stayed quiet.

A change came over the normally unshakable smuggler’s face.  For once in his life, Han had no idea what to say.  He’d suspected, since first seeing the boy, that Armitage’s stellar behavior had more to do with fear than sincerity, but to know that the kid had been hurt by some fat cat Imperial (especially one that may have gotten away) made Han’s blood boil. 

Fortunately, his gift for diversion hadn’t been befuddled as well.  “Boys, boys,” he said, crouching down to pat each of them on the shoulder.  Armitage flinched, and another pang of awkward guilt twisted Han’s winning smile into more of a grimace.  “There’s no need to fight.  Hey, here’s an idea:  I’ve got to run to the store to pick up some things for Leia.  Who wants some chocolate covered Camby berries?”

“Me, me, me, me!” Poe squealed.

Armitage wasn’t sure what Camby berries were.  He liked sweets, but he was still too afraid to speak up.

“How about you, kid?”

He stammered out a reply, knowing better than to ignore a direct question.  “I-I’d have to ask my mother, sir.”

Han smiled more confidently; he specialized in cutting deals.  “Tell you what: you two come along with me, and _behave_ , and I’ll let you pick out whatever you want.  Your moms want some girl time, so I think it’s alright if they don’t know about it just this once.  Whaddaya say?”

Vibrating with anticipation, Poe shouted, “Ok!”

Armitage remained more reserved, still uncertain if he were in trouble or not and unwilling to contradict an adult.  “Yes, sir.  If you say so, sir.”

“Good lads.  Alright then, off to the speeder with you.”  Han pointed them in the direction of the blue and silver landspeeder parked in the lot nearby.

Poe took off running, _nyoom-nyooming_ his X-Wing through the air as he leapt and hopped toward the parking lot.

Armitage followed at a much more subdued pace, trailed by BB-8.

Han drew up to his full height, ran a hand through his hair, and chuckled.  _Not too shabby._   _I’ve already got this fatherhood thing on lockdown_ , he told himself as he sauntered after them.  _Ben might end up a bit chubby, but there isn’t a frown in the world that can’t be lifted by the promise of candy._


	9. Chapter 9

***6 ABY***

 

Things had settled into a comfortable rhythm at the Arkanis Academy.  What remained of the Imperial fleet had either surrendered or fled deep into the Unknown Regions, and peace reigned.  The Rebels had repaired the damage done to the buildings, and had even begun the laborious process of expanding the fortress to include an air base, several greenhouses, an upgraded HoloNet relay, and a large warehouse.  Most importantly to Armitage, they’d kept their word about allowing him and his mother to stay.  

Even with all the hustle and bustle, he’d never known a sense of safety and comfort like this.  Little by little, just as the white dewflowers and yellow raincaps peeked through the cracks of the torn earth, Armitage, too, began to emerge from his own inner shadows.  The academy was a proper school once more, but whenever class wasn’t in session, Armitage took it upon himself to venture out farther and farther overland with the herd of grazing nerfs, exploring new wonders and sketching interesting discoveries into his datapad.  Only the occasional worry about dirtying his uniform surfaced to frighten him. He knew, now, that he wouldn’t be beaten or thrown into the box for such a small indiscretion. Still, he tried to take care of his things.  It was only proper.  He didn’t want to trouble his mother, especially now that she was so close to giving birth to his sister.

After all, if he slipped up or proved himself a nuisance, his mother might not want him around anymore.  She’d never threatened to throw him out into the stables with the wicked-looking diplopods, but his father had done it before, telling him that if he wanted to behave like an animal then he ought to be treated like one.  He could always be replaced, and very soon she’d have someone with whom she could do just that.  He had to be on his best behavior, helping out with anything he could to prove he wasn’t as useless as his father always said he was.

Today, he was on a mission.  The spring season on Arkanis lasted but a few weeks, and during that time of brief sunlight and relative warmth, the Tarine leaves and buds were in their prime.  The only problem was that they blended in too well with the long grass on the plains, making them difficult to spot.  But, Armitage knew that nerfs didn’t like the bitter smell they gave off, so he followed the herd and observed their movements carefully.  Every once in a while the calves would turn away from a particular patch of grass and refuse to pasture there.  Whenever they did, he scurried over and plucked out the offending plants, folding them carefully into the satchel hanging at his side.

Sometimes, when the wind picked up, he could hear the distinct, airy fluting that signaled the proximity of whistlefern.  Whistlefern could be used to treat fevers if chewed raw or distilled in a tea, or to soothe rashes and burns if made into a poultice.  It had a minty but sweet taste that most animals liked, so he had to stay alert in order to snatch it up before the nerfs could eat it.  He had a separate compartment in his bag to put those leaves in so they wouldn’t contaminate the Tarine.

Armitage lazed atop a large boulder, sketching out the patterns of Boomer’s hide and the texture of his broken horn.  The oldest and largest male of the herd, Boomer kept dutiful watch over his family.  He grunted and stamped the ground from time to time, reminding everyone around that he was in charge.  Armitage was the only being on the academy grounds who could approach Boomer when he was in an ornery mood (which, Armitage noted, was pretty much all the time).  Ever since some of the academy cadets had attempted to cull him for steaks and leather, he hadn’t trusted bipeds of any kind.  He’d broken a horn goring one of the offending students up against a wall.  That didn’t scare Armitage, though; he assumed the cadet had had it coming.  Almost all of them had behaved cruelly toward the nerfs, prodding them with shock sticks or separating calves from the herd to slaughter in secret out in the forest.

He didn’t like to think about that.  Anyway, those days were over.  Everyone here, now, treated the great, lumbering beasts with respect.

A distant rumble yanked Armitage out of his reminiscence.  Boomer raised his head and lowed a warning.  Armitage jumped to his feet, scanning the horizon for bombers.  Was it the Empire this time? Had his father come back?

His breaths came in shallow gasps.  A cold bead of sweat trailed down his spine.  He shivered.  Surely his mind was playing tricks on him.

He breathed out a rough sigh of relief at the sight of the black clouds billowing over the ocean, lightning coiling around the towering columns. 

 _It’s just a storm_ , he told himself, watching the swirl gather height and speed, like smoke rising from a winter hearth fire.  Tension drained from his shoulders down to his fingertips.  He took his rain cloak out of his pack and shrugged it on.  “I guess we’d better head back,” he said, picking up Neffie from where she’d been sunning on the rock beside him and tucking her under his shirt.

“ _C_ _á_ _ro! C_ _á_ _ro!_ ” he called out to the herd.  Boomer translated his command into a bellow that raised every head at once.  Moving as one organism with Boomer acting as its brain, the herd turned and made its way toward the stables in no particular hurry.  Their tough, oiled hides were used to the rain and sleet, though Armitage wasn’t the only one made uneasy by the deep booms of thunder these days.  With each echoing peal, tails thrashed and hooves tromped nervously.

The storm broke over them a little more than halfway home, dumping out torrents of rain and sleet.  It had come upon them with such voracious speed that Armitage concluded this would be one of the first major storms of the spring, and likely a dangerous one.

The wind whipped around them like a cyclone and made it impossible for Armitage to keep his hood up.  He grasped it with one hand, pulling it low over his eyes so that he could see the path they had to take.  The stomping cattle quickly churned the ground into a muddy quagmire.  It took all of Armitage’s strength to unstick his feet and remain upright, but he stayed with the herd until the last of the stragglers had made it to safety. 

He lost his footing a few times in the slippery morass, trying to close the gates as the wind lashed cascades of rain against him.  Fortunately, Lieutenant Vitaan and Captain Arden had been nearby, cleaning out the stables when they arrived.  Armitage didn’t know the captain very well, so he stayed close to Khel; he’d extended a tentative trust toward Lieutenant Vitaan ever since he’d protected them from the Rebel soldiers and helped him and his mother re-settle into their home after the siege had ended.  Plus, his mother seemed to like him. Armitage wasn't sure yet whether or not that was a good thing.

Khel stood behind Armitage to shield him from the worst of the wind and rain, ready to catch him if he should fall, and aided him in securing the cumbersome, wooden gates.  Together, they counted up the herd to be sure none were missing before the three of them dashed inside to the welcoming warmth of the kitchens. 

Lydia looked up from filleting a steak, drawing breath to scold whoever was letting the cold air in, and gasped when she saw her son drenched and dripping all over the flagstone floor.  She set the knife down and wiped her hands clean.  “Oh, _Ármi!_ I didn’t know you were out there! Come here, _ah’stor_. Let’s get you dried off.”

Armitage hung up the useless rain cloak on a peg near the door and ran to embrace his mother.  “I gathered some Tarine and whistlefern, and I brought the herd in, all by myself! Well… almost,” he said, resting his head against her swollen belly. The baby kicked at the sound of his voice.

Lydia looked to Khel and Captain Arden, eyebrows raised inquisitively.

“That he did!” Khel smiled.  He shrugged off his small part in the affair. “I only helped shut the gates.”

She smiled down at her son and smoothed back his sodden hair.  "Thank you, _ah'stor._ That was very kind of you."  Pride shone in her eyes, but Armitage was still too unused to feeling he’d done something right to see it.

“Is she coming out soon, _Ama_ _?"_ he asked, pressing his small hand over the spot where his sister had moved.  He looked up at her with an unreadable expression.

“Very soon, I think.”

“Why don’t you let me take care of all this, and have yourself a break?” Khel said, crossing over to where Lydia was preparing the evening meal.  He leaned over the island counter and gave her a peck on the cheek.  Lydia blushed.

Armitage watched the exchange from below, saying nothing.

“I didn’t know you could grill a nerf steak,” she grinned.

“Are you kidding?” Khel leaned back and chuckled.  He brushed her hair from her shoulders and left his hands there a while, admiring her toned curves. “Let me at it.  I can sear a wicked steak.  Best in the squad, right Captain?” he called over his shoulder to Arden, who caught himself up short at the door.

“It’s true! The man can work miracles with a blowtorch,” he said, dashing out under the good grace of the compliment before he could get roped into helping.

Lydia cocked one eyebrow.  “Well, then, Lieutenant, I’ll leave you to it.”

Khel saluted, smiling, and moved around to take over Lydia’s duties.  She looked down at Armitage, rubbing a clean towel over his hair and gently wiping a streak of mud from his cheek as they wandered over to sit at the small dining table reserved for the servants’ use.

There were no more servants at the Arkanis Academy, now.  Although several had chosen to stay -- some due to familiarity, most due to the kind of close friendship that could only form under duress and a shared hatred for the master of the house -- they now received adequate compensation and living quarters from the New Republic Navy.  Lydia had taken up residence in one of the more modest rooms in the tower, so that she could be near Armitage, but she had allowed both Brendol’s and Maratelle’s former quarters to be taken over by the military for their use.  Before long, nothing remained of the darkness that had once inhabited those chambers.

Although she had originally been a cadet at the academy, Lydia had grown accustomed to the kitchen work she’d been forced into, finding she had quite the talent for stretching out ingredients to make palatable meals in great quantities.  She’d resented her duties under Brendol’s callous rule, but she didn’t mind cooking for the Republic soldiers who now inhabited the academy.  They had proven themselves honorable and even kind, and she felt it was the least she could do to repay them for allowing her and her son to stay. 

She smiled, watching Armitage unfold the tea leaves and herbs from his carefully packed satchel and place them on the table to dry. 

“Looks like you’re out of gas refills for the torch,” Khel said, searching through the cabinets.

“May be some in the pantry,” Lydia said. She put a hand on the chair as an anchor and started to push herself up.

“No, no, don’t get up,” Khel said when he saw her shift. “I’ll find them.”  He rummaged through the crates in the bottom of the pantry but came up empty handed. “Huh, nothing in here but extra starter flints for the ovens.”

“I know where some are,” Armitage offered, jumping up from his seat.  He’d been more eager to help than usual and Lydia thought it might be a sign that he was starting to come out of his shell.  “I can go get them.”

Khel frowned in confusion, but Lydia smiled.  She thought nothing of her son having knowledge of where to find semi-dangerous materials.  He was an intelligent boy, exceptionally advanced for his age, and he often got up to building things that required more grown-up tools.  “Go ahead, then,” she said, then called after him as he darted around the corner, “And change into some dry clothes while you’re out!”

Armitage ran up the worn stone steps of the spiral staircase, not wanting to waste any time.  In his room, he stripped down and pulled on a dry shirt and pants, tucking Neffie into his bed and activating DeeDee as he left.  He tossed his wet clothes at her and ordered her to take them down to the laundry.  “Yes, master,” she said in her calm, feminine voice.  Armitage smirked.

His bravado faded, however, when he strutted down the hall to stand in front of the door to his father’s old office.

The gilded, blackwood door loomed over him, summoning dark memories from within its shadowy carvings.  The fine hairs on his arms and at the nape of his neck stood on end.  A shiver ran through him.

_He’s not in there.  It’s ok.  You can do it._

His body refused to move.

_Just do it, stupid! Be useful for once!_

He took a deep breath and reached out a trembling hand.  His fingers hovered over the doorknob.

_If you don’t do what you said you’d do then you’ll be a liar, and they won’t want you anymore.  Nobody wants a liar._

Tears lined his eyes, but he fought hard to keep them from falling.

Cringing, he held his breath, turned the knob, and pushed the heavy door inward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Arkanisian in this chapter translates to:
> 
>  _Cáro!_ \- Home! (a simple command to "go home")


	10. Chapter 10

The room, which had always seemed a living thing in Armitage’s mind for all the fear it stoked in his bowels, had lost surprisingly little of its power over him in Brendol’s absence.  Without its customary fire crackling in the inglenook, the chamber had succumbed to the chill of the weather outside its masoned walls, but the chill that settled deep into Armitage’s bones had nothing to do with the temperature.  

Republic officers had removed the data terminal and all of its files, but they’d left the furniture and the rest of the space just as it had been.  After all, the well-appointed room was part of Armitage’s inheritance, for better or worse, and Princess Leia had ordered her people to leave things as they were, so long as they weren’t relevant to military intelligence gathering.  The spiced scent of cigar smoke still lingered, wafting up from the plush carpet, and the massive, wroshyr wood desk and cushioned, leather chair still dominated the office, as though Brendol’s presence lingered in their formidable proportions. 

As Armitage moved cautiously around the side of the desk, giving it as wide a berth as he could, a glimmer of light caught his attention.

He froze.

His father’s whiskey glass sat atop the thrantahide blotter, its faceted base glittering in flashes of lightning. 

Of all the things in this room, Brendol prized that glass in particular.

Armitage hated that glass.

How many times had Brendol called him into this office -- the sour tinge of alcohol permeating every vicious jibe -- to frighten him, belittle him, and punish him? It had never been easy, but it was always worse when he’d been drinking.  Armitage recalled the image of his father’s chubby fingers curled around the glass, and his own terrified visage broken apart into hundreds of tiny crystalline reflections across its surface.  The glass not only made him look small, but what was in it, fuel for his father’s fury, made him feel small as well.

Even so, no matter how awful Brendol was when he was drinking, the real terror began when he set the glass down.  As long as he was sipping at whatever inebriating concoction it contained, he would limit his assaults to spiteful, hurtful words.  Far more precious to him than his son, he wouldn’t dare spill a drop of the expensive liquor.

There were few things in the world more terrifying to Armitage than the muffled thump of his father setting the heavy glass down on his desk, or the sight of his bulk disappearing behind the desk followed by the oiled hiss of the bottom drawer sliding open.

The drawer that Armitage needed to open, if he were going to fetch the spare cartridges.

For now, though, his attention remained on the hateful glass.

His heart pounded.  His breathing quickened.  His fists, balled at his sides, clenched tighter as a devious thought whispered in his mind.

_Break it._

Armitage shook his head as though arguing with some external entity.  He couldn’t do that.  He'd get in trouble.

_Go on.  Break it.  You know you want to._

Such an act of defiance would be impossible, no matter how badly he wanted to follow through with it.  Somehow, Brendol would know -- he _always_ knew -- and he would come for him.

_He’s not here.  He’s not coming back._

_No one will ever know._

Armitage cast a glance at the open door.  The hallway was empty.

_Go on._

_Do it!_

Tears streaming down his cheeks, fists trembling at his sides, panting as hard as if he’d run the entire length of the athletic field, Armitage stomped over to the desk, snatched the glass from the table and hurled it at the far wall.

It shattered.

He could hardly hear the impact over his own guttural cry of rage.

Armitage clapped his hands over his mouth.

_Oh, no! What have you done? What if someone heard? You’re going to be in so much trouble!_

Horror paralyzed him.  He looked over his shoulder to the hallway.  Still empty.

_Clean it up, idiot! Hurry!_

Sobbing in fear, Armitage rushed over to the mess he’d made, looking around frantically for a dustpan or something he could use to dispose of the shards.

_If you don’t hurry up you’re going to get caught! They’ll throw you out for sure!_

His thoughts raced and jumbled and twisted in his head, tangling up his usual, clear string of logic.  He panicked, reaching out to pick up the sharp pieces, heedless of the painful cuts that opened on his fingers and palms.

“Armitage? Are you ok?”

The deep voice struck him like lightning.

He gasped, clutching the broken bits in his hands, trying in vain to hide them before Khel could see what he was doing.

“Armitage! Get away from that!” Khel shouted, as he came around the side of the desk and saw the shattered glass everywhere.

Armitage dropped the bloody pieces to the floor and retreated until he bumped into a bookcase, unable to get any farther away.  Khel came toward him, too fast, and Armitage cringed, his whole body trembling, hands balled up into fists but not daring to shield himself from the expected onslaught.  It wasn’t his father, but it might as well be.  Nothing would ever change.

“Let me see,” Khel said, dropping to a crouch in front of him and gently taking his hands into his own.  Armitage kept his eyes closed, waiting for the slap or punch that would surely come.  Hyperventilating, he couldn’t hold back his sobs of despair.  Khel examined the cuts and saw that they were mostly superficial, and sighed in relief.  “It’s ok, it’s not too bad,” he said, softening his tone now that the immediate threat had passed. “Hey, Armie, it’s ok.”

“I-I-I’m sorry, s-sir,” he squeaked, fear choking off any further reply.

“It’s ok. You’re alright. They’re just little cuts.”  Khel’s brow pinched.  Armitage’s reaction had been worryingly disproportionate to the situation, but Khel knew that young children were sometimes like that.  “I’m sorry I yelled, I was afraid you’d hurt yourself.  I didn't mean to frighten you.”

Armitage opened his eyes and stared at Khel as though he were seeing some kind of apparition, a forest spirit, or some other equally unlikely being.  No one had ever apologized for yelling at him.  No man had ever been concerned for his well-being like this.  It could have been a trap, but Khel seemed genuinely worried.  His tone carried the same tender urgency as his mother’s.  Armitage couldn’t understand what was happening.  He stayed frozen, staring.

“Do you want me to take you down to the med droid?”

Sniffling and hiccuping stifled sobs, he shook his head, still not trusting himself to speak lest he break the spell. 

Khel watched him for a while, trying to figure out what had happened.  Though he’d only known him for a short time, Armitage had always seemed a quiet, even-keeled child, not prone at all to fits of emotion or violent outbursts. 

Finally, Armitage stammered, “I-I can go by my— by myself.”

“Ok.  Hurry down there, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”  He blinked and timidly pulled his hands back to scrub at his eyes, worried that it would be misconstrued as a sign of defense.  He couldn’t believe he was getting away without a beating.  Not even a single insult.  He scurried away as fast as he could, before Khel could change his mind.  At the door he stopped, suddenly remembering what he’d gone in there for.  He turned and muttered, “They’re in the bottom d-drawer, in the desk,” then darted away down the hall before he could hear Khel opening it.

Khel’s frown deepened.  Why had the boy been so scared?

He bent down to slide the drawer open, intending to get what he’d come for and hurry to catch up to Armitage, but he stopped cold and stared at its contents. 

He shuddered.


	11. Chapter 11

Lightning crackled outside.  A boom of thunder vibrated through the stone floor where Armitage lay huddled under his bed.  He clutched Neffie to his chest, whispering to her, over and over.

“It’s ok, Neffie. It’s just a storm… It’s j-just a storm… It’s jus—”

A flash struck the lightning rod atop the tower, resounding throughout the small chamber.  Armitage yelped and curled into a tight ball, shaking.

Was that a silhouette in the doorway just now?

Had his father come back for him?

He scooted farther against the wall.

_Please, no! Please, no! Please! It’s just a storm! It’s—_

Another thunderclap and he was up, squirming out from under the bed, tears flowing as he raced down the hallway toward his mother’s room.  He skidded to a halt at her door, reaching out to knock but hesitating, his had suspended above the wood.

_I don’t want to bother her…_

_What if…_

_What if she gets mad?_

_She thinks I’m brave._

_She’ll be disappointed._

_I have to be brave._

He took a step back and hugged Neffie, burying his face into her fluffy fur. 

Thunder crashed again.  He jumped, whimpering, and closed his eyes.

_It’s just a storm._

He heard footsteps.  Heavy.  Coming toward him.

_It’s just your imagination! It’s just a storm!_

“Armitage?”

He gasped.  His heart fluttered in his chest so quickly he thought it might explode.

A hand touched his shoulder.

He screamed.

“Armie, it’s me!” Khel whispered, “It’s alright.”

Eyes wide, he stared up at Khel in disbelief. 

“What are you doing up?”

He tried to speak, but his throat had dried up.  Only a choked sob escaped.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Khel soothed, patting his shoulder, “Is it the storm?”

Shame burned in his cheeks, reddening his ears.

Reluctantly, he nodded.  He hid his face behind Neffie.

“You want to see your mom?”

“Yes, sir,” he squeaked.

“Ok, it’s alright, come on.” Khel stood and put his hand on Armitage’s back, ushering him forward.

Khel knocked, having to raise his voice to compete with the howling storm, “Lydia, it’s me. Armitage is here, too.”

“Oh!” she called back, after some rustling, “Come in!”

Khel opened the door, letting Armitage go first, though he was reluctant to move.

Even in the low candlelight, Lydia caught a glimpse of the tears on her son’s face. “ _Ármi!_ _Ah’stor!_ What’s wrong?”

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath to steady himself.  _I have to be brave_.  “N-Neffie was scared, be-because of the storm.  I know nerfs aren’t allowed in the bed, but… but maybe, just this once, you could make an exception?”

“Oh, baby, of course,” Lydia smiled, scooting over and patting the bed beside her.

Armitage dashed to the bed, suddenly able to find his feet.  He climbed up under the comforter Lydia held up for him and snuggled against her, curling around her warm, round belly with Neffie.  Lydia looked over to Khel, who hovered uncertainly by the door, and gave him an apologetic smile.  She stroked Armitage’s hair and kissed his forehead.  “ _Ármi?_ Do you mind if Khel stays with us, too?”

Strangely, Armitage didn’t mind; he felt a little braver with the soldier in the room.  He still didn’t completely trust the Rebel, but Khel had been good to his mother and had helped her to take care of herself as well as the things that were getting harder for her to do.  It went against everything his father had ever taught him about the Rebels, but, Armitage was slowly learning, his father had been wrong about many things.

He shook his head, happy just to feel safe and warm.

Khel eased himself into the bed behind Lydia and put an arm around her and Armitage.  “You sure it’s ok, Armie?”

So unprecedented was the soliciting of his opinion by an authority figure, Armitage almost forgot to answer.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Ok, then. Good night, Armie.”

“Good night, sir.  Good night, _Ama_.”

Lydia kissed the top of his head and wished him pleasant dreams.

“See, Neffie,” he whispered, “It’s ok now. There’s a soldier here to protect us.”

 

************************************************

 

Armitage woke to the murmur of a deep voice beside him. Disoriented, he lay still until he remembered where he was and to whom the voice belonged.  

"—from the things in that drawer, and the way he panicked when I shouted.  Brendol—" Khel said the name quietly, "—hurt Armitage, didn't he." Even softer, "He hurt you."

A pause, and then the sound of his mother's voice and the warmth of her arms tightening around him. "Yes. He hurt a lot of people."

Armitage kept his breathing slow and even, pretending to still be asleep although he felt himself blush at the deception.  He hoped his mother didn't see his ears reddening.  He felt her eyes on him in the silence that followed.  Just as he was about to give up the ruse, she spoke again, barely above a whisper, her fingers tracing over his forehead just as lightly.

"Brendol was sadistic.  Obsessed.  He wanted to 'breed an army of Force sensitive soldiers, trained from birth to unquestioningly serve the Empire'." She sounded angry at first, but fear made her voice falter. "So, when Armitage showed no signs of being able to manipulate the Force, he became even more violent toward him, and he... raped me again."

Though Armitage was unable to comprehend the full implications of what that meant, he could sense the tension her confession had evoked. 

"Why did he... Why you?" Khel hastened to apologize, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean— Can you use the Force?"

Lydia froze, holding her breath.  Armitage worried that she'd caught him listening in.  Her hand stopped stroking his hair and trembled on the top of his head.  "Yes. I was stupid.  Careless.  My mother always told me to hide my abilities because people would fear who I was, or turn me in to the Inquisitors, or try to use me for their own gain... but I thought I was alone and I was just being lazy, hovering things while cleaning up.  I was a cadet here.  I had an exam the next morning, and I was in a hurry to get back to the dorms.  Brendol was there, watching, and I was so tired I didn’t sense him.  When I realized he was, I tried to pretend I’d thrown the dish, broken it on purpose, but he knew, and I could see that horrible plan flashing in his eyes even then.  He came at me so fast, I couldn’t— I— He told me I _owed_ it to him.  For everything he’d done for me.  Allowing me to stay here, attend the academy, while he knew my secret.”

Khel didn’t, couldn’t, speak for long time.  Finally, his voice tight with barely restrained anger, he whispered, “You didn’t owe him anything, no matter what he thought he had over you.  He had no right to hurt you.  None of that was your fault.”

Lydia sighed, once again running her fingers through Armitage’s hair.  “I know that. Now. I was just, so _afraid_. No one could speak out against him. He had the ear of the Emperor himself. And, with what he knew about me… he could’ve had me killed. I never realized just how afraid I had been until he was gone. I should have just run away… something.  Anything.”

“He manipulated you.  Threatened you.  You were still a child, then.  You did what you had to do to survive.  That’s all.  There’s nothing wrong or shameful about that.”

Lydia went quiet again.  She leaned in and kissed the top of Armitage’s head.  “I’m tired of living like that.  Just surviving.  I want Armitage, and Calla, when she comes, to be free from the past.  Maybe… maybe I’m presuming too much about where this is all going, but I want to be honest with you, too.  No more secrets.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready for.” 

“No, it— this feels right.  With you.”

Khel chuckled softly, somewhat breaking the tension. “Well, that’s a relief!”

“I’m serious.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But you’re not wrong.”

Armitage heard kisses being exchanged and blushed again.

“I’m pretty sure there’s nothing you could tell me that would get rid of me at this point,” he said, his voice more subdued but still jovial.

He could hear the quaver in his mother's breath as she inhaled, thinking to say more, but stopping herself each time.  Eventually, she continued, her voice flat and determined.

“I'm Emperor Palpatine's illegitimate daughter." 

Another, seemingly endless quiet settled over the room.  Armitage nearly forgot to breathe, himself. _If_ Ama _is the Emperor's daughter doesn't... Doesn't that make me...?_  

"I'll understand if you want to leave," she added, her words chasing one after the other as fear raced through her, "Just, please, don't tell anyone.  Leave us be.  I have no designs on the throne, nor any love for the Empire.  He never even knew about me.  But I... I don't know what people would do to us if... if they… I just want us to be left alone—"

"Lydia—"

"Please, Khel! I don't care what happens to me, but my children deserve a chance at a normal life."

"Of course they do. So do you."

The bed shook as Khel shifted his weight behind them.  Armitage felt his strong arm encircle the both of them once more.

"I'm not going anywhere, love.  Your secret's safe with me.  I promise I'll never do anything to harm you or your children, nor will I allow anyone else to."

The tension drained from his mother's arm and Armitage felt himself relaxing along with it.  

Perhaps this man wasn't really the enemy after all.

If he kept his word, things might even begin to be... nice.


	12. Chapter 12

  
  


***10 ABY***

 

“Calla, stop fidgeting.”

“But I don’t wanna wear a stupid dress!”

“Well,” Armitage huffed, turning her collar back up for the third time, “That’s not for you to decide. Today is _Ama’s_ day. She picked these clothes out specifically for the occasion. You don’t want to disappoint her, do you?”

“No,” Calla pouted but gave her older brother a devilish look as the collar to her dress turned down yet again without her even touching it.

Armitage sighed and righted it again. _All the power of the Force, and she uses it to play games_. He couldn’t deny that he was jealous.  Whatever Force powers he was supposed to have inherited never manifested, but Calla’s had begun to develop early.  Next month, she would begin training at the Jedi Academy that Master Skywalker had established out in the old Area Null tower.  But, for now, she delighted in irritating him with petty pranks and tricks.

Part of him still recoiled from the arcane powers his mother and sister wielded.  He feared that he’d always been a disappointment, and that his lack of connection to the Force would see him cast aside and forgotten.  Useless and unimportant.  Inadequacy plagued him less and less as his schooling continued and his academic record sharpened, honed to a fine point by his intellect, but he knew that his mother and sister shared a bond that no amount of studiousness or intelligence could ever comprehend.

Solemn strains of music echoed from the assembly hall, the chords subdued yet jubilant at the same time.

“Come on, it's starting.”  Armitage side-eyed his sister’s collar once more and fluffed up the flower petals in her basket before ushering her out the door and into the great hall.

Armitage triple-checked the arrangement of the _Kriossan_ , the braided cord by which his mother’s union with Captain Vitaan would be sealed.  It curled around itself in a symbol of infinity, resting on the silken, white pillow he would carry down the aisle as soon as his sister reached the altar.  Two golden rings glittered in the center of the coiled cord.  They were part of Captain Vitaan’s homeworld’s wedding traditions.

He'd been through numerous ceremonies and formal events, but none as important as this.  His heart fluttered in his chest as he took his first, measured steps down the aisle.  Calla’s collar popped down again, and she grinned at him.  Armitage narrowed his eyes, but he was too busy concentrating on taking the exact number of steps to do much more than glare at her.  Besides, this was a joyous occasion.  He didn't want to frown _too_ hard.

As he reached the end of the aisle, he knelt and presented the _Kriossan_ to the officiant, who nodded and signed his blessing over the pillow.  Because Captain Vitaan had no son to attend him, Armitage moved to stand beside him, across from his mother and sister.  Lydia smiled down at him with such warmth and happiness he couldn't help but break his serious demeanor to smile back at her.  Tears glittered in the corners of her eyes, and he felt them sting his eyes as well, but he had a duty to perform.  This had to be perfect.  For her.

Armitage took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.  The officiant, a stooped, elderly man with knobby fingers, bade him step forward.  Lydia and Khel extended their right hands, and the old man painted a stroke of red alderberry juice across their palms.  They would have cut their palms with a ritual knife in the old tradition, but these days the ceremony had become somewhat more symbolic.  In their left hands, they held decorative short swords, which they crossed overhead to symbolize their commitment to fight for and defend one another. 

The officiant removed the cord from the pillow.  Lydia and Khel grasped each other’s wrists with their “bloodied” hands and with each loop over and under their hands, they recited the ancient vows one after the other.

"<In shadow and light

in wrong and in right

in joy and strife

through the long night.

Forever in love

forever as one

as this cord unsundered

held fast through all time.>"

Khel had some trouble pronouncing the ancient Arkanisian dialect, but he managed it without any serious gaffes.  Armitage smiled a bit, pride swelling in his chest.  It had been his duty as the firstborn of the house to teach Khel the proper words.

They sheathed the swords in their ceremonial belts.  While the _Kriossan_ bound their right hands, Armitage offered each of them in turn one of the rings, which they slid over each other’s left ring fingers to a resounding cheer from the crowd.  Lydia had only her friends in attendance, but Khel had invited practically every soldier in the Republic.  Everyone who lived or worked in the academy had turned up for the celebration.  Even Princess Leia and her young son, Ben, sat in the front row to represent Lydia’s family.  Ben kept getting soft nudges from his mother for using the Force to ruffle Calla’s dress and make her giggle at inappropriate times.

Calla grinned and sniffled, trying unsuccessfully to hold in her own tears of joy.  Undoubtedly, she was imagining her own future wedding someday.  Probably to Ben, as close as they were.

Armitage wondered if he would ever meet anyone he'd want to marry.

Probably not. Girls were icky.


	13. Chapter 13

***12 ABY***

 

 

“Nnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! Pew pew pew! Nnnnnrrrrrrrr!”

“I got you!”

“No, you dinn’!”

“Did too!”

“You just clipped my wing! I can keep flying!”

“Nuh-uh! I hit your weapons systems! You can't shoot me back!”

“BB-8 fixed them for me!”

“Not _that_ fast!”

Poe, Noleep, and Marin chased each other through the grass, holding their X-Wings and TIEs aloft as they argued.  Armitage chuckled a little at the scene below him and refocused on his datapad. 

“What's so funny?” Marin growled up at him, stopping so abruptly that Noleep collided with her, bowling her over into the tall grass.

Hux froze.  He hadn't thought that they would hear him.

“Well?” Noleep demanded after apologizing to Marin and helping her up.

“N-nothing.”  He'd hoped to avoid attention.  Most of the kids at the academy tended to ignore him anyway.  He'd always felt invisible on the rocky perch that overlooked the courtyard; it was his spot.  He didn't want to have to give it up to bullies, but they'd already noticed him, so he might as well explain.  “It's just that, well, Poe is right.  You couldn't have hit his weapons systems from that angle. The S-foils would have been in the way, and that model TIE only has a central cannon.”

Poe stuck his tongue out at Marin.

“Yeah? Well, you would know, Imp!” she growled at Armitage.

Noleep added, “What're you doing up there anyway? Watching us like some kind of weirdo!”

Hux sneered, his mouth getting the better of his common sense.  Even though these children were two years younger than him, they were bigger and stronger.  Armitage had dealt with his share of bullies, but when his temper flared he never seemed to be able to extricate himself from a fight.  “Well, if you'll recall, I was here first.  You chose to play over here.”

“You think just cuz your dad’s the flight instructor, you can do whatever you want?”

“Well, I can't say that it hurts.”

“I'll show you hurt, you little—” Noleep growled and made for the boulder after Poe.

Distracted by the Abednedo’s threats, and Poe clambering up the rocks toward him, Armitage hadn't noticed Marin sneak around the back.  She snatched the datapad out of his hands and held it aloft.  Hux shouted and grabbed for it, but lost his footing.  Poe caught him from behind and wrapped his arms around him, holding him still.

Armitage struggled against his grip, but Poe held fast and wouldn't let him slip down and away as they'd been taught in their self-defense classes.  “Let me go!”

“Why? So you can run and tattle?” Poe taunted, “’Snitches get stitches,’ remember?”

“What was he doing on there, Mar?” Noleep huffed, pulling himself up over the edge of the rock, “Sending secret messages to the Imps?”

Marin glanced down at Hux’s datapad. “He's playing GalaCon!” she laughed.  “I bet he thinks he's hot sh—” She stopped and stared at the username, her laughter dying out like a weak cough.  “Stars alive…”

“What? What is it?” Poe frowned.

“No way.”

“What?” Noleep pushed.

Marin stared at Hux, wide-eyed. “ _You're_ Starkiller?”

“So what if I am?” Hux grumbled.

In his shock, Poe let go and Armitage shrugged him off, thrusting his hand out for his datapad.

Marin handed it back to him slowly, as though he might unleash as savage an attack on her in real life as he could in the game.

“For real? That's… That’s frelling awesome!” Poe grinned, slapping Hux on the shoulder.  “So what are you doing now? Hunting down the last of the Rodian Resistance? Moving in on the Core? Taking down the Hutts?”

Armitage didn't quite know how to take this sudden change in demeanor.  He scrolled back down to his inventory page to check that nothing had been interrupted and typed in a few commands.  Everything appeared to be in order.  ETAs and other data scrolled across the bottom of the screen, along with real-time readouts of fleet movements around the imaginary galaxy.  He shrugged. “Repairing hyperdrives.”

Poe chuckled and leaned in closer.  “Really?”

Armitage pulled away, tilting his datapad so they couldn't see it.

“You don't think it's weird that he plays for the Empire?”

Poe waved Noleep off.  “So? All the best players play for the Empire. It's harder.”

“Yeah,” Marin added, warming up to Hux. “The good guys are so OP.”

Hux fidgeted.  He never thought being good at a game would be something that could make him friends.  Galactic Conquest, GalaCon for short, was an intense military tactical simulator that had been leaked from the Imperial academies post-war, and tweaked by New Republic slicers to be played for fun.  Other players’ vocabulary could be quite alarming when he routed their systems or destroyed their fleets.  As such, he spoke to people in-game even less than he did in the real world.

“So… you play, too?” Armitage ventured.

“Yeah!” Poe laughed, reaching for his own datapad, “Who doesn’t?”

“I’m Firestar7, Poe is FlyBoy, and Noleep is BelsavB-Wing,” Marin lowered her voice to an exaggerated whisper, “He plays for the Republic.”

“So?” Noleep shuffled his feet and grumbled, “We all should.”

“I _have_ a Pub team, too, you know!” Poe objected.  He sat cross-legged in front of Hux.  “Wanna play a one-on-one round?”

Hux rubbed the back of his neck. “Sure, I guess.”

“Alright!” Poe grinned. “Think you can still take me with your resources engaged in build mode?”

“I think I'll do alright,” Armitage smirked.  He was, in fact, not repairing any hyperdrives at the moment.  A long time ago he’d figured out a trick: putting one resource token into researching hyperdrives made it seem as though his fleet was partially dry-docked for repairs, when they were actually deployed in a typical patrol formation along the Mid-Rim. With nothing more than a few taps, Armitage realigned his search route, surrounded, and annihilated Poe’s fleet.

“Hey!” Poe whined, “You weren’t messing around with hyperdrives! What the hell! You little liar!”  Poe swore, but it was a far more genial kind of upset than it had been before. 

“It’s not like I was going to reveal my plans to the enemy.”

He laughed.  “That was pretty sneaky.”

Armitage shrugged.  “It’s war.”

“Hey guys! Whatcha doin’ up there?”

The four of them turned to look down.  Ben Solo grinned up at them from below.  “Can I come play?”

“You’re too little for GalaCon,” Marin said.

“Am not!” Ben folded his arms and glared at her.  With a wave of his hand, Marin’s datapad floated down to him.

“Hey! Give it back!”

“Not ‘til you show me how to play!” Ben looked over the interface, frowning.

Marin clambered down the rock toward him.  “You’d better give it back, or I’m gonna tell Master Skywalker on you.”

“No, you won’t.” He waved his hand again and Marin froze, a strange look clouding her eyes.

“No, I won’t,” she said in a monotone voice.

“Whoa.” Poe stared at Ben. “That’s not cool, man.”

“So?” Ben smiled up at Hux and looked back at Poe, ignoring Marin, who continued to stand and stare off into the distance.  “Show me how to play, then.”

The other two hesitated, afraid of Ben’s power to manipulate and control them.

“I’ll teach you,” Armitage offered.

Ben grinned and clambered up the boulder to sit next to him, still holding Marin’s datapad.

“Don’t you have your own?” Armitage asked, nodding toward the computer.

“Yeah, but…” he looked a bit sheepish. “I broke it.”

“Well, don’t get mad and break hers.”

“I won’t!”

“Alright then.  Log her out, then go here and set up your account first…”

“Hey, umm…” Poe rubbed the back of his neck. “Aren’t you gonna, you know, let her go?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ben said, having forgotten all about Marin.  He waved his hand absently and she blinked a few times, looked to where Ben had been just moments before, and swore under her breath.

“That was a dirty trick,” she grumbled.

Ben shrugged.

Marin came to sit beside Hux, and the others nervously gathered around Ben to watch his tutorial. Getting a few pointers from the master couldn't hurt.  Even at just 12 years old, Hux ranked number one among players in conquest mode. His and his allied Imperial fleets had control of every sector but for some of the Mid Rim, the Core, and the Deep Core.  It was only a matter of time before he'd conquered it all, assuming no one betrayed him or some heretofore undiscovered race attacked from the Unknown Regions.

Hux went over some basic tactics, which seemed lost on the young Jedi.  He just wanted to ram through every obstacle with brute force.  It worked, somewhat, in the earliest stages of the game, but Ben quickly became frustrated with his lack of progress.  Hux had to reach up quickly to snatch the datapad from his hands as he raised it over his head to smash it.

“Ben! You can't just break things when something doesn't go as planned!”  Ben glared at him, defiant at first, but averted his eyes when Hux lowered his voice.  “This is Marin’s. You can't just wreck it like that. How do you think she'd feel?”

“’M sorry…” he pouted, fidgeting with his robe.

Hux handed Marin’s datapad back to her.  “You have to be patient for this kind of game. It takes a long time to progress. It's probably a lot like being a Jedi, right?”

“Yeah,” Ben brightened a little. “Yeah, I guess so.”  He stood up and grinned at them, chastisement forgotten.  “Wanna see what I learned today?”

“Sure,” Armitage said, though he noticed that the others had tensed up.

Ben’s smile widened even more and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and holding out his hands, palms up, in front of him.

Armitage felt himself lightening and eventually lifting off of the ground. He tried to reach down to steady himself but Ben had already floated him up high enough that he couldn't reach the rock, even when he stretched his legs out. He barked out a nervous laugh. At first the feeling was fascinating, exhilarating even, but as he continued to rise higher, panic at the loss of control set in.  “Ben!” he shouted, but then forced himself to calm his voice, lest he startle the boy and fall. “Ben, put me down!”

Ben still had his eyes closed. A drop of sweat trickled down his rumpled forehead. This effort took all of his concentration.  Hux trembled, fearful that Ben could lose it at any second.  He was just a boy, after all, brash and foolhardy, as was the prerogative of youth, but he was attempting maneuvers that should have been beyond his abilities.

“Ben, please!”

At the tremor in Hux's voice, Ben opened his eyes.  He seemed as shocked as Hux was.  Hux dipped for a moment, eliciting a yelp, but Ben managed to keep control.  Barely.

“Sorry! Sorry!” he called out, hurrying to set Hux down as quickly and gently as he could.  He lost control at the last second, but Hux only dropped a few centimeters.  Ben sighed in relief.  He liked Armie because he wasn’t afraid of his powers.  He didn’t want Armie to start fearing him like all the other kids did.

Armitage stood up tall and brushed imaginary specks from his tunic, pretending to be unruffled by the experience.  “It’s fine.  Just… not so high next time, please.”

All of Ben’s anxiety faded at the mention of a “next time”.  His wide smile reappeared.  “Ok. I promise!”


	14. Chapter 14

***13 ABY***

 

 

Rain rapped against the window, picking up enough speed to begin seeping through the weathered cracks in the casement.  Armitage yawned and pushed his datapad away, stretching as he leaned back in his chair and flicked the switch for the forcefield generator.  It sputtered and hummed to life, repelling any further incursions of moisture into the stone chamber.

Armitage frowned at his datapad, askew on his desk.  He’d been studying hard, certain he was onto something concerning Cronau radiation and its implications for hyperspace detection, but he’d been chipping away at the problem for the entire afternoon and illumination had yet to come. 

From his reclining position, he could see some of the Jedi taking up meditation positions along the ridge that overlooked the courtyard.  A few had stripped off their heavy robes in order to feel the rain on their skin.  Armitage took advantage of the welcome distraction.  Though he’d been watching the Jedi practice for years now, over the last year or so his gaze had become more focused.  He watched two of the older boys, the rain hammering their tanned skin and trickling down the contours of their much broader shoulders, hugging the curves of their well-defined muscles.  A familiar heat climbed his cheeks and prompted a pleasant tightness in his loins at the unbidden thought of tracing those raindrops with his fingertips.

He hadn’t realized he’d leaned so close to the window, but he suddenly noticed Ben’s stare piercing through the condensation of his breath.  Hux didn’t know how long he’d been looking up at him, but his blush deepened at having been caught with his lecherous thoughts.  Ben seemed to have some kind of connection with him, more so than with their other friends, and could often sense how he was feeling.  Hux wondered if Ben had ever used his powers to read his mind, too.

Ben frowned.  He turned his head and glared at the two boys whom Hux had been observing.  Jat-Ji and Ferron had already settled deep into their meditations, so they didn’t see the jealousy in Ben’s eyes.

Part of the cliffside gave way and crumbled.  Ferron and Jat-Ji toppled forward, clawing deep grooves into the muck as the surface fell away from under them.  Ben and the other students scrambled backward to the safety of more solid rock.

Hux jumped up.  His chair barked against the stone floor and clattered over.  He rubbed the fog off the window with his sleeve and leaned closer, watching the Jedi scrabble uselessly at the landslide.  Teej and Calla sprang to their feet and extended their hands to help, but were too late to do anything more than soften the fall of the two young men.  The drop hadn’t been far, and they’d mostly slid down the muddy slope, but Jat-Ji cried out in pain.

Armitage snatched his comm off the desk and called in to the infirmary.  “Emergency in the courtyard! Two of the Jedi fell from the overlook.  It looks like one of them has a broken arm. There could be other injuries.”

He received a curt acknowledgement.  Having done all he could, Armitage stared out at the scene, debating going out there himself.  He decided he’d only be in the way.  Besides, his sister and Ben were fine.   _Let the professionals do their jobs._

Though the rest of the Jedi were either looking over the precipice, shouting encouragements, or trying to navigate a safe way down to their injured friends, Ben stood behind them, staring up at Hux.  Even through the fog and rain and distance, Hux could see his gaze smoldering from under the wet strands of hair plastered to his forehead. 

He shivered.

The other students -- even some of the Jedi students -- whispered dark things about Ben.  He was just a little boy, but a lot of people seemed to go out of their way to avoid him.  Hux understood that kind of loneliness and what it could do to a person; he never shied away from or showed any fear of Ben.  He knew all too well that the things people said in hushed tones behind people’s backs were rarely true.

Surely, this had just been an ill-timed accident.  A mere coincidence that he’d been ogling just those two boys.

_Surely._

Ben only looked away when Master Skywalker showed up and the medics arrived to help Jat-Ji and Ferron off to the infirmary. 

He didn’t _appear_ guilty.

Of course, that only applied if he actually felt bad about what he’d done… 

If he’d in fact done anything at all.

Hux mentally shrugged and turned back to his schoolwork.  Whatever problem Ben had with his classmates, if any, was between him and Master Skywalker.

_It doesn't have anything to do with me._


	15. Chapter 15

***16 ABY***

 

 

 

“Ben… he’s gonna get mad.”

Ben frowned, concentrating.  “No, he won’t.”

Calla sighed.  “Trust me.”

The pebble arced up, boosted by the Force, and tapped against Hux’s window.  When he didn’t respond, Ben searched for another and chucked the tiny, smooth stone harder this time. 

The window opened and an annoyed red-head appeared just in time to catch a rock to the face.

Ben gasped.  Hux had appeared so quickly he hadn’t been able to stop its flight.

“Ow!” Hux disappeared temporarily then reappeared, angrier than before. “What the hell?”

“Well, now you’ve gone and done it,” Calla giggled.

“Sorry!” Ben called up, his heart fluttering in his throat.  The last thing he wanted was for Hux to be annoyed with him.  Well… not this annoyed, anyway.

“What?” Hux snapped. “I’m trying to study!”

“Sorry… I just… You’ve been studying all day. I thought you might like to, I dunno…” Ben shuffled his feet in the dirt. “It’s nice out today; I thought you might want to come hang out with us by the lake?”

Hux’s lip curled and his nose wrinkled.  That was the mild irritation Ben had been shooting for: when Hux wanted to do something, but didn’t want to admit it to himself.  Ben thought he looked cute. 

“And you couldn’t have just come up here to ask?” he grumbled, rubbing at his forehead.

Before Ben could answer, the window shut again.  

“You like him,” Calla singsonged behind him.

“Yeah? So? Shut up.”

"Maybe you two should go to the lake alone,” she taunted.

“Why?”

Calla giggled. “So you can kiss, dummy!”

Ben blushed. “I’m not gonna— Shh! He’s coming!”

Armitage opened the door and stepped out to find two children behaving suspiciously.  He frowned. “Well?”

“You, um, wanna go hiking? Or fishing? Or—?”

“'Or?'” Calla mimicked, and bit her lip to stifle more giggles.

Ben shot her a side-eye and tried to play it off casually, “You know, whatever.”

Hux sighed. It _was_ nice out -- a rare, sunny day -- and he had been cooped up all morning.  But, even with the Greethka gone, Hux didn’t feel comfortable swimming in the lake.  There were still several dangerous fish and other amphibious creatures that could have moved in since the last time they’d been there.  Fishing, on the other hand, was a nice, quiet activity that he might enjoy.  “I’ll get the fishing gear.”

“Ok!” Ben perked up, ignoring Calla’s further imitations.  Once Hux was out of earshot again, Ben hissed, “Stop it! I mean it!”

Calla pulled a face.  “Why do you like him anyway? He’s boring.”

“He’s not b—” Ben fidgeted. “He’s your brother! You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

“Yeah, but he’s my brother. So, I know him. I’m telling you. Boring.” 

“No, he’s not.”

Calla shrugged and rolled her eyes again.

Hux reappeared with three poles and a fishing kit in one hand, and his datapad in the other.  Ben’s face fell when he saw the sleek, black tablet.  “What’s that for?”

“Well, we’re going to have to be quiet while we’re fishing, so I thought I’d catch up on some reading. And I can catalogue a sample of the lake’s ecosystem as we catch things.”

“Oh. That’s, um… ok.”

“Told you so,” Calla whispered.

“Shut up.”

Hux looked at the two of them and shook his head, sighing again.  He didn’t know what they’d been arguing about, and he didn’t care.  “Are the two of you going to be able to behave? Or are you going to scare all the fish away?”

“We’ll be quiet!” Ben shouted, a bit more excitedly than he’d intended.  He blushed again and reached out to take a pole for himself.  His heart beat a little faster when Hux’s fingers brushed against his.  “When we’re there… I mean.”

The trio trekked out through the woods to a small, freshwater lake.  Like most bodies of water on Arkanis, it had been home to several aggressive animals until the Rebels moved in and made it part of the school’s training areas.  Now, it was a popular spot for students to relax on rare, clear, summer days.  Across the lake, several other Jedi-in-training swam in a small grotto.  Ben, glad for the excuse to hide away along a shadier portion of the lake where the fish would likely be congregating, picked a spot where they wouldn’t be seen.  He settled in and started tying the lures to the lines while Hux laid out the blanket for them to recline on.

“I think I’m gonna go swim.  You two have fun!” Calla winked at Ben and skipped off to meet up with the others.

“Be careful!” Hux called after her.

Ben sighed in relief.  Now, he could be alone with Hux.

_Alone with Hux._

Ben swallowed.  Suddenly, he wasn’t so relieved anymore.

“Well, I don’t expect we’ll get any bites with all that noise over there, but it’s worth a shot, I suppose,” Hux said, casting out his line and securing the rod between two large stones. 

Ben followed suit, and lay back close — but not _too_ close — to Hux.  “Still, it’s nice to be outside for once, don’t you think?”

Hux looked up at the way the sunlight played with the colors of the leaves shifting in the breeze.  “Yeah, it is.”

After a few minutes of silence between them, listening to the far off sounds of the Jedi and other academy students frolicking about in the water, Hux spoke again.  “How are your studies with Master Skywalker going?”

“They’re ok…” Ben started.  He was learning to fine tune the way the Force moved through him, and he could feel his power growing day by day, but he could also feel it being stifled.  He was being held back.  The voice in his head — whom Ben suspected more and more of being some kind of Sith spirit that the others, even Master Luke, could not sense — might be right.  Master Skywalker was afraid of him.  Just like his mother and father.

“But?” Hux prompted.

“Well,” Ben hesitated.  Even though he trusted Hux, and Hux was the only one who really believed in him, there were some things he was still too scared to share.  “I think… I think they’re afraid of me.”

Ben sensed the tension in the Force around Armie, but he couldn’t quite place the feeling.  It might have been apprehension, but it wasn’t the same kind of fear he sensed from his fellow students.

He couldn’t bear it, if Hux were scared of him like all the others.  He asked, not really wanting to know the answer, “Are… are _you_ afraid of me?”

“No,” Hux answered truthfully.

“Really?”

“I don’t really understand how you can do what you do, and to be honest, I’m a little jealous sometimes.  But, no.  I’m not afraid of you.  We’re friends, right? Friends trust each other no matter what.”

“But I’ve hurt people.”

“They were accidents, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” Ben hurried to explain. “Yeah, I guess so.  I wasn’t very good at controlling myself.  I guess I’m still not very good at that.”  It wasn’t a lie.  Not really.

Hux propped himself up on one elbow and turned to face Ben, face more serious than usual.  “They haven’t hurt you, have they?”

“Who? Uncle Luke? The other students?” Ben moved to mirror Hux’s position.

“Anyone.”

“No.  Of course not.  Why would you think that?”

Ben reached out with his senses, trying to understand what Hux meant, or why he would say that.  He caught a shadow of a memory: a large man in one of those old Imperial officer’s uniforms, his lips pulled back in a snarl, wielding a wide leather strap in his meaty hands, his height alone menacing enough from the perspective of a small boy. 

Armitage frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ben pulled back before he could intrude too far, afraid he would be caught, but more afraid of hurting his friend.

The image unsettled him.  He shivered.

Armitage shrugged.  “Sometimes people abuse their power over others.”  He lowered his voice. “What about…” he looked around, but then seemed embarrassed to have done so, as though the mere mention of the name might conjure the black spirit, “… Snoke?”

He’d told Armie about Snoke a little over a year ago, and Hux had believed him without question.  Hux had even offered to help research anything he could find on Snoke, but so far he’d turned up nothing. 

“He’s been pretty quiet lately.”  That wasn’t entirely a lie, either.  Though his sleep had been fraught with nightmares, Ben had been trying to ignore the voice that whispered to him when he trained.  It was always there when he failed, encouraging him to push himself harder, but even more so when he succeeded.  Praising his triumphs.  Telling him how much better he was, how much more powerful he was than his fellow students, more so than even his master.  And, how they were all holding him back.  The acknowledgement filled him with pride and a sense of accomplishment that neither his parents, nor Master Skywalker, ever gave him.  He liked the feeling, but something about it made him uneasy.

“That’s… good?” Hux ventured.

"Yeah.”

The bell on Ben’s line jingled and he looked over to see the line being tugged and the lure bobbing on the water.

Hux huffed in amusement, “Ha! You’ve actually caught something!”

Ben snatched up his pole and started reeling in his catch.  It felt stronger than anything he’d caught before.

“Careful, Ben,” Hux admonished, “Let it play out a bit.  Don’t lead it so much.  Too much tension and you’ll snap the line.”

“I know! I know!” Ben grumbled, digging his feet in as the line jinked this way and that.  He could just use the Force to sense where it was and float it up out of the water, but he was pretty sure Hux would chide him for that, too.

Ben’s foot slipped, but Armitage’s lanky arms wrapped around him from behind, steadying him.  He almost yelped and dropped the rod.  Hux’s touch tingled through him and turned his cheeks and ears bright red.

“It’s going to be a big one!” Hux laughed, keeping hold of him while he fought with the monster on the end of the line.  “I didn’t think there was anything this large left in this lake!”

The water erupted in front of them, and Poe splashed up onto the rocks, laughing and tugging on Ben’s line, ringing the bell.  “Ah! Armie! Ben! You should have seen your faces!”   

Hux gasped, then grinned, then laughed, “Poe! That was a good one! I didn’t even know you were out here.”

Ben glowered as Hux’s attention shifted toward the other boy.  “That wasn’t very nice,” he grumbled.

Poe clambered up the rocks and clapped Ben on the shoulder, “Oh, lighten up Benny.  You could use a good laugh.  Armie isn’t mad, are you Armie?”

Hux shook his head, still chuckling.

The way Armie smiled at Poe made Ben’s ears burn.  They were laughing at him.  Just like the other students when he couldn’t perform some trick with the Force that came easily to them.  Even worse, with the way their eyes met, it was as if the two older boys shared some secret that Ben wasn’t a part of.

A small nudge with the Force and Poe’s foot slipped on the mossy rock, sending him tumbling back into the lake with a yelp.  Hux tried to catch him, but unbalanced himself and toppled over after him.

Ben panicked, trying to summon the Force to pull Hux to safety but only succeeding in dunking him even harder into the water beside Poe.

Hux broke the water first, gulping at the air that he could barely reach.  “Ben! I—”  He sank back down. 

He went under again just as Poe came up laughing. 

Poe saw the panic on Ben’s face and his laughter died instantly.  “What?”

“Armie! He went under! I-I-I pushed him! I didn’t mean to!”  Ben spread his hands out before him and tried to concentrate but the Force eluded him in his panic.  “No, no, no, no!”

Poe gulped down a deep breath and dove back into the lake.

Panic dug itself into Ben’s gut, claws sharp and rending.  Each slash released a flood of terror through his veins.  Hux was drowning.  Because of him.  Because he couldn’t concentrate.  Because he was failing.

_Don’t shy away.  Feel it.  Let your fear guide you._

“No!” Ben cried, loud enough that the students on the other side of the lake looked up to see what was amiss.  He shouldn’t listen to this voice.  He shouldn’t let it in.  It was wrong.

But… he _needed_ it.

_Feel it! Use it!_

Ben felt the fear surge through him – _What if he dies? What if I killed him?_ – and felt it connect to something deep inside him that rippled through the Force, building in the way a tsunami gained speed and power the farther it travelled.  Something in this place lent him its strength, raw and untamed, reverberating with his desire, or perhaps it had just been inside him all along.  He extended his hands again and Poe rose from the water, as did Hux, gasping in the air like the hundreds of fish and other creatures that also floated above the water.

Ben closed his eyes.  Concentrating was easier now that he understood: the Force didn’t flow through him, he controlled it.  It was his to command.

He levitated Poe and Hux back to the safety of the ledge and set them down.

The fish dropped back into the lake.

Ben sank to his knees, staring at his hands. 

Hux coughed and sputtered, snapping Ben out of his reverie.  “Ben! Why did you do that? You know I can’t swim!”

Ben looked up and saw something he’d hoped never to see.  Hux, staring back at him.  Hurt.

Fear in his eyes.

“I-I-I’m sorry! I—” he looked from Hux to Poe.  The same look of horror and confusion pinched his expression.  “I didn’t mean to! I—”

All of the students were staring at him. Whispering.

Ben ran.


End file.
